The Room
by AstoriaGrace
Summary: Draco Malfoy has always led a secure, peacefully spoiled life. There have always been an ample supply of Mudbloods to tease, half-breeds to be revolted by, and weirdos to despise. But suddenly, all of the security is gone. Suddenly, he is the half-breed, the Mudbloods are twice as pure, and the weirdo... the weirdo might be the only person who understands. Werewolf!Draco [Druna!]
1. Sick

1\. Sick

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 _A/N: Hey! Welcome readers. This story is about one of my favorite fan theories, which unfortunately J.K. Rowling said is totally implausible. Let's imagine otherwise for now however! Basically, this is AU, OOC, and Canon-divergent. You have been warned! There will be more than a splash of Druna. And just remember, the views presented in this story are not necessarily the views held by the author._

 _Also, Disclaimer- I don't own Harry Potter in any way, shape, or form. Enjoy!_

* * *

"Draco! Come out immediately. There's someone who wishes to speak with you!" The soft rapping of my mother's knuckles on the door of my room jolts me from an uneasy sleep.

Instinctively, I tumble from my bed, knocking a vase of wilting flowers from the nightstand before me. I scrabble at the shattered remains of porcelain, calling awkwardly to my mother. "I- I can't! I don't feel well…"

My mother Narcissa seems unable to keep the note of panic from her voice. "No! You need to! Don't you understand?! Stop being selfish… love, let me in!" The handle of the door twists and I can hear her fingernails scraping over the wooden door as she breaks down in ragged sobs.

My mother rarely cries; she considers such mental un-restraint to be lowly and weak, so this outburst shocks me. I can't disobey her. I know that she will be punished just as severely for my treachery as I will. With a sigh, I attempt to smooth out my ruffled suit and hair before opening the door. My mother stands before me, her eyes puffy.

With a gracious nod, she turns away and glides majestically down the hall, beckoning me over her shoulder. "Come. Our guest is waiting."

I bite my lip and march after her, holding my head high as a Malfoy should. My eyes are puffy as well- I'm sure if it. After my father's recent imprisonment it feels like my entire life crumbling. I don't know how to express any of the pain that I feel, but I do know that my only outlet is the chance that the Dark Lord has graciously granted me. It is I, Draco Malfoy, who is about to have the honor of eliminating that wretched Albus Dumbledore. I have no doubt that after my mission is complete, not only will my family be the most respected in the world, but then perhaps I'll get the credit that I deserve. I'm certain that my father will finally look at me like a man, shake my hand, and say "Well done, my son. I'm proud to call you my descendant; you've brought great honor to the name of Malfoy".

I draw my robes around me to hide my wrinkled clothes as my mother opens an inconspicuous back door that our old house-elf once used to access our inner court and vegetable garden. For a fleeting moment I'm confused about why she would choose the outdoors, of all places, for me to meet anyone. She grips my shoulder hard, digging her nails into my flesh as I attempt to pass her. "I'm so sorry, son. I'm so sorry." Her hoarsely whispered words ring in my ear as she shoves me forward. The door slams shut behind me and I'm left standing in the cold courtyard. I blink, shivering in the night breeze.

"Hello?" I say loudly, attempting to keep my tone cold and emotionless. Nothing but the soft sound of chirping crickets in the dead black night reply. "H- hello? Is anyone here?" I falter slightly, mentally beating myself for making such a foolish mistake. Malfoys never waver—never show fear or uncertainty over anything. How could I be any more of a disappointment? I can't even keep my emotions in check, let alone please my parents in my day to day actions.

I bite my lip, wrapping my cloak around me as tightly as I can. After a few more seconds of waiting in silence, I turn back to the small door. Perhaps whoever was supposed to come forgot. Perhaps they simply had better things to do—a new mission to carry out for the Dark Lord.

Just as my fingers brush the door knob, a low noise behind me causes me to freeze. "H-hello?" A sickening sound, like fingernails running over a chalkboard grinds across my ears. I wince, fumbling at the door knob with a rising sense of panic. I don't care who my mother wants me to meet—there's no way that I'm waiting out here in the middle of the night! A throaty, gravelly, noise sounds right behind me and I whip around, pressing my back to the door. Why did I leave my wand in my room? "Is anyone there? Is that you Aunt? This isn't funny! Come out into the light- let me see you!" My voice rises, but I don't fight to control it. " _Lumos_!" I make good use of the wandless magic that my Auntie and Mother are beginning to teach me—light floods from my fingertips, creating a white circle around me. The glare bounces off of two twin orbs, floating just outside the ring of illumination.

I blink just as a huge blurry figure flings itself through the air, straight at me. A piercing scream rings in my ears and I feel a detached sense of burning pain in my left arm. Then I'm sinking into an oblivion of darkness.

* * *

Merlin. My arm hurts...

I move slightly on my bed, groaning instinctively at the twinge of pain coursing through my bones. Slowly, ever so slowly, I open my eyes. The shift from darkness to sudden blinding white light is agonizing. After a few more moments, I'm able to make out the blurry outlines of my leather armchair, the green velvet curtains of my room, and a tall dark-haired woman who is reclining against the marble fireplace.

"Waking up at last are you, sweetie?" Her voice is taught with poorly restrained laughter, and I turn away from her, burying my face in my pillow. The last person that I want to see right now is Aunt Bellatrix. She has just about the poorest bedside manner that I've ever experienced. The week after coming home from school I developed a terrible cold, and Mother was so busy trying to plead for Father's release before the Wizengamot that it was left to Bella to take care of me. I'll never forget the belligerence with which she managed to shove the gallons of chicken soup down my throat. Scarring.

"Where's Mother?" I mumble, deciding that she is certainly the person that I need the most. "What time is it? Did I miss the meeting?"My mind is a blur of jumbled colors, thoughts, and frightening images. I must have been asleep for a few hours at least, for the fragments of dreams are beginning to return to memory.

"Busy." My aunt walks slowly across the room and jerks the velvet curtains open, releasing a flood of light across my bed. "Get up."

I make a motion to obey, but fall back, exhausted. "My arm hurts." I say petulantly.

Bellatrix throws her head back, laughing so loudly that I almost wish I could cover my ears. "Of course it does, you _stupid_ child!" Her words become slurred as she bends over me, her dark hands finding my arm and tugging at it viciously.

I am _not_ a child! I am sixteen years old- the Dark Lord has a mission for me. I deserve at least some respect from this woman, be she my aunt or not. I hardly notice our Lord giving her any important tasks, after all. I open my mouth to snap out a sharp retort... but then remember my Aunt's favorite curse. She has no problem with using the Cruciatus on family members, and once under that torture is more than enough for me. "What happened? What time is it?" I repeat, my voice hoarse.

A slow smile spreads over my Aunt's face, her heavily lidded eyes gleaming. "Don't you mean 'what _month_ '? It's the second of August, and you need to get well soon- your mother is going to take you to Diagon Alley tomorrow."

"What the-"

My aunt cuts me off before I can continue, her smile widening. "Werewolf bites tend to sink the precipitant into a deep coma for several weeks, or at least, that's what I've heard. But don't worry, sweetie. You still have till the end of the month before things get rough."

"W-werewolf bite?" I stumble over my words like an idiot, cold fear beginning to seep into my heart. Was that what attacked me? But- but it couldn't have an affect if the creature only bit my arm... right?

"Aw, is poor widdle Dwaco scwared?" Bellatrix taunts, her dark eyes glinting with maniacal delight as she lisps in her horrible baby-voice. "Does poor widdle Dwaco not want to be a fwilthy widdle half-breed? Does he not want to be a discwace to the famiwy?"

I shake my head, mind still whirling with confusion and delirium. "No! No..."

"Stop whining, you little _cow!"_ She spits. "And take a look at your arm. Fenrir Greyback loves children, you know. But what does he love even more? The children of reject Death Eaters like my idiot brother-in-law- your father!"

With a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach, I move the bed sheets from my left arm. I bite back a whimper of pain and disgust at the bloody bandages covering it- the festering wound still peaking through the poor wrapping job. I look up at my aunt in quiet terror to find that she is still wearing that same smug smile. She nods slowly, as if in victory, and I'm violently sick all over my lap.

Still coughing on bile, I barely manage to lift my head as Bella sweeps from the room, pausing for a fleeting moment at the door before leaving me completely alone.

"Oh, and Draco, dear? You wouldn't be forgetting about that little task of yours now, would you?"


	2. Dirty

2\. Dirty

* * *

I stare blankly at the door to my room, my ears still humming with sound of my aunt's dramatic departure. Slowly, I slip from between my sheets, falling to my knees on the floor. Another wave of intense nausea hits me, but I suppress it, wiping my mouth and attempting to rise to my feet. I stumble back to the ground, my legs severely weakened by over two weeks in bed. I need to find my mum. I don't care how childish or pathetic it sounds- I just want her. I want to put my head in her lap and cry, to feel her comforting arms around me, to hear her say that no matter what kind of monster I am, I'm still her son and that I'll always make her proud.

Crawling on all fours, I stumble across the room with blood seeping from my left arm. I claw at the handle to the door as the air becomes darker- more suffocating. The world fades into nothing, and I feel myself falling to the floor as if in slow motion.

* * *

"Draco?" Something soft and cold is patting gently on my cheek. I moan, shifting on the hard floor. "Wake up... please! My boy... my son. I'm so sorry." My mother bursts into tears, her hair falling over my chest as she collapses beside me.

I blink my eyes open, staring up at the ceiling of my room. My mouth is filled with the sour taste of bile, and my entire body is practically on fire with pain. My mother- what did she say before closing the door on me? I struggle to remember, ignoring her trembling form beside me. Something about being sorry, and- oh Merlin. She _must_ have known. She was in on this- she betrayed me! I roll over stiffly, pulling myself up by the door nob and jerking from the room.

Her hand catches at my ankle, and she tugs me to my knees. Her blue eyes are swollen and her face is blotchy from crying. "Talk to me..." She whispers, but I turn from her angrily.

"I have nothing to say!" I snap. "Except- except... _why_? How could you do this to me?" I hear my voice crack, wiping my eyes roughly and shaking my head in desperation.

"It wasn't me... I swear, love."

As if I thought that she was the one who sank her teeth into my arm! That's not the kind of answer I want- I just need to know the Dark Lord's reason for letting this happen. _Commanding_ it to happen, like as not. "Yeah." I say coldly, standing shakily and turning to look back at her tearful face. "Yeah. It's fine- I feel great and all. I'm just going to the guest room until this one gets cleaned. I need to freshen up; I've got a mission to get along with, after all."

Narcissa emits a small scream of a sob, burying her cheeks in her hands as I storm from the room with an agonizingly determined stride. I'm not sure if this is all really happening. It seems impossible that all in the course of a few moments everything that I've ever known could be taken from me. And yes, everything _is_ taken. The only thing that mattered was fulfilling my duty and making everyone proud. I'll never be able to do that now. My blood is filthy- I'm nothing but dirt. At least the Mudblood Hermione Granger has her humanity to cling to. I'm a monster.

I don't want to go back to Hogwarts- I don't ever want to face those that I've called my friends and enemies again. It's inescapable though, for how else is the mission to succeed? I can hardly dispose of the horrid Dumbledore from my bedroom at home. But then...

I pause, leaning against the richly wallpapered wall outside the guest room to catch my breath. I'm not sure if I _want_ to perform my duty anymore. I have no doubt in my mind that the Dark Lord ordered the bite to be delivered, as punishment like my aunt Bellatrix said.

Ever since I was a little kid, I've wanted to be a Death Eater. It's a high, magnificent calling. As a Death Eater, I would be able to help my family and friends fulfill the ultimate calling: to purify the Wizarding world. True, I've always been afraid of the Dark Lord... but who isn't? He deserves the respect and awe of all- he is the greatest wizard in history. Father told me stories about the glory days under our Lord's rule, and it seems the stuff of dreams. When he returned and gave me my special mission, I was never prouder. I finally had an opportunity to show everyone that I'm better than that stuck up scar-head Potter and his stupid friends. And best of all, my Father would be so pleased when I restored the family honor and brought us the power and glory we so deserve.

This life among the Death Eaters doesn't seem like such a dream anymore, though. More like a nightmare.

I guess I didn't realize how painful everything would be. The Dark Lord has been back for over a year, but Utopia isn't even close to being established. I've watched the others suffer under curses, seen animals killed for sport with _Avada Kedavra_ , and even been subjected to the _Cruciatus_ once by Bellatrix. 'Training', she called it- though I'm not so sure about that. Making me lie at the center of the family table while everyone watched me squirm and plead for mercy doesn't seem like training in the least. More like public humiliation and torture.

I open the door to the large bedroom slowly, stepping onto the royal blue carpet with a wave of guilt. I've sat here hundreds of times, played hide-and-seek when I was little right under that four-poster bed, and even had my first kiss right in front of the fireplace. Pansy Parkinson when I was fourteen. That was after third year, and the Parkinsons came from their Scotland estate to visit us. This is the room where Pansy slept. I smile rather vaguely at the memory of her lips, but the recollection doesn't excite me. I never got around to snogging her- or any girl for that matter- again, though I'm not particularly sorry. Not even the night of the Yule Ball was I able to drag her away from her friends for some quiet time in the rosebushes; she's just too much of a social butterfly. I don't feel like resuming my relationship with her. We were always more friends than lovers, and she got on my nerves more often than not. I don't even know if I'm capable of love anymore. Can a monster have friends? Or am I just a danger? Above all else, will anyone _want_ to love me anymore?

I don't deserve to stand here. I might soil the clean atmosphere with my filthy presence. I hasten across the soft carpet and towards the door leading to the room's private bathroom. It is tiled in silver and blue, the walls and floor shining spotlessly. I turn on the tap for a shower, knowing in my heart that even a hundred hours under warm water and soapy bubbles will never wash the stains of impurity from my blood and body. Ever so gently, I unwrap the the putrid bandages from my arm, taking in the true extent of the damage for the first time. The sight is so sickening that I'm nearly forced bend over the toilet. Choking back bile, I stare at the oozing clumps of torn flesh and muscle. Dark veins of blackened blood run beneath my skin like charcoal spiderwebs.

With a churning stomach, I look up at my reflection. Weeks of being in a comatose state has done nothing to improve my looks. My face is a sickly grey, and my stone-cold eyes are rather red. My hair is a mess; instead of its usual silver-white perfection, it's tangled and dry. These symptoms remind of our half-breed Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for third year. Now I know what being a werewolf feels like. I almost wish that I hadn't teased his clothes- I can imagine that finding work was difficult. I'm actually sorry that I wasn't more respectful to him. He couldn't really help who he was, I suppose.

I turn from the mirror, pulling the glass door to the shower closed as I step inside. The water streams down my back, burning my skin and wound horribly. I like it- the pain gives me an odd sense of fulfillment, as if I'm getting what I deserve at last. I tilt my head back, allowing my mind to explore the task ahead of me. Aunt Bella said that mother could take me to Diagon Alley tomorrow, and I must figure out what to do before then. If my mission is going to require any special tools, Borgin and Burke's will be the place to go.

Borgin and Burke's... the last time I went with a family member was almost four years ago. Father wanted to drop off some suspicious poisons and the like. He rarely let my accompany him on his trips, but that was a special favor. Still, he was deeply disappointed about my grades that year. I can't remember exactly how poorly I did- but I was only a bit behind Granger. There was a cursed necklace covered in opals, and a cool cabinet... I got my Hand of Glory there- though I figure it was extremely over-priced.

My eyes fly open. Just last year, Graham Montage went missing. _I_ was the one who found him- in the u-bend of one of the toilets in the boys' room, no less. Professor Snape helped me get him free (not that I ended up getting a jot of credit for saving him anyway), and he had the best story! He told me that he got pushed into the broken Vanishing Cabinet at Hogwarts. It was really terrific- he almost died! Anyway, he said that the ugly old cabinet on the first floor used to be a Vanishing one, before it stopped working. He didn't get a good look at it as he was going through, but there was a inscription at the top, 'Harmionia Nectere Passus', or something like that. It's been a while since I was last in Borgin and Burke's, but I'd swear that the black cabinet in the back corner of the front room has the _same_ thing carved over the door. Professor Snape told me that the Hogwart's Vanishing Cabinet was moved to a safe place to prevent further dangerous incidents, like the Montage case. If I could only find it...

I shut off the hot water tap, empowered by a sudden energy. I can't believe that no one has thought of anything like this before. If the Vanishing Cabinet can connect to the one in Borgin and Burke's, then there's practically a open gateway into Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I'll talk to Borgin tomorrow; he should have no reason for preventing Death Eaters from borrowing his facilities. I wrap a towel around my waist, stepping from the steaming shower with the tiniest spark of purpose.  
My desire to finally prove my worth almost overpowers my new-found disgust of the Dark Lord's work.

Almost- but not quite.

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 _A/N: I'm so sorry about the late update. Anyway, thank you so much for the favorites, reviews, and follows. You're all so amazing._


	3. Diagon Alley

3\. Diagon Alley

* * *

Soft sunlight falls across the blue blanketed bed as I open my eyes. For a fleeting moment, I'm struck with the odd feeling that I've just had a horrible dream: something filled with dark shadows and sickness. But then, the pain in my arm reminds me of something far worse. It wasn't just a dream that I slogged through yesterday- it was reality. And reality hurts far more than any subconscious nightmare ever could.

I groan, struggling into a sitting position in my bed and brushing my unkempt hair from my eyes. Today is the day that Mother is taking me to Diagon Alley, I remember, and the only opportunity I might have in a long while to advance in my mission. With tremendous effort, I heave myself from the guest-room bed.

I'm going to make pretend, at least for today, that none of this ever happened, I decide. I don't feel half as achy, and even the pounding in my head has subsided. The shock of my bite is still paralyzing, but even that I'll be able to overcome. I guess my life is going to get pretty rocky... but I want to try to spend one more day like I was just a normal boy again, with a father and mother who love me and a glorious task to fulfill- one that will surely set my worthy family high in the ranks of the new regime.

I dress in silence, pleased to see that my wound has stopped bleeding, and already seems to be starting along the road towards physical recovery. Taking care to cover it well with my shirt and cloak, I exit the room.

My mother and Aunt are already at breakfast, the former sitting stiffer than an iron poker, and the latter lolling carelessly with her head on the table and the back lacing of her outer corset undone. Mother straightens a bit more as I pull back the chair at the head, sliding into the seat formerly occupied by my father. I've earned it, I figure; or at least while he's away. "Away" seems to be a better way of putting things. I don't want to even think about the proud Lucius Malfoy in prison.

"Did you sleep alright?" Mother pins on an excessively hopeful smile that doesn't quite manage to deter my attention from her reddened eyes.

Perfect- she's trying to play along with normality as well.

"Fine." I smile back, glancing subconsciously around for the breakfast plates.

Aunt Bellatrix emits a sudden snort of laughter, lifting her head from the bare oak table and grinning horribly. "Your mother was up early to make the breakfast, but I told her to sit back down. Just because Lucius was stupid enough to get his House-elf stolen doesn't mean that a member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Blackshould be slaving away like a common wench in her own house."

I give her a sour look, biting my tongue to restrain from hurling a particularly nasty bit of cheek at her. Mother likes cooking- she's always done it ever since that stuck up Scar-Head clothed Dobby, and she has no objections. Dear Auntie, however, continues despite my choleric glare.

"So I was thinking," she says, "Why not let the filth prove his worth?"

My gaze flits around the royally outfitted room as I struggle to locate this "filth" of whom my aunt is speaking. It only takes three or so seconds to remember that it's me.

"Get into the kitchen, boy, I haven't got all day! There's a group of Snatchers in west Wiltshire who're rumored to have a whole ransom of Mudbloods- I'd like to go down there and see for myself." She yawns ostentatiously, then seeing that I'm making no move to obey, snaps her long, cafe au lait fingers in my direction. "Budge up! And while you're at it, get a bottle of the best red wine from the cellar. I need a bit of comfort. Go on, you dirty-veined child!"

With a motion like a pouncing cat, my mother brings her hands down on the highly polished table-top. "You will not talk that way to my son, Bella!" She snaps, almost kicking her chair back in her hurry to rise.

Bellatrix rolls her eyes. "Whatever you say, Cissy. If you're going to get up on your high Hippogriff, then I might as well make the meal for myself." Only after my mother has beckoned me forward and swept from the room does she mutter, "Don't want his dirty little hands contaminating my food anyway," under her breath.

"We'll eat in Diagon Alley." Narcissa huffs, wrapping her light, richly embroidered cloak around her as I follow her into the Entrance Hall. I think I hear her hiss something about "the nerve of that-" under her breath, but it's so unlike my refined mother to curse that I figure my ears must be deceiving me.

Gravel flinging behind her tall heels, Mother storms along our richly shaded drive, actually delivering a vicious kick at the pure white peacock which is unfortunate enough to cross her path. By the time we've reached the gate however, she's calmed down enough to strap her typical cold, elegant expression firmly back onto her bloodless face. We take a step back together as the gate swings open for us, it's heavy iron hinges shifting soundlessly. Aunt Bella and her husband Rodolphus (who's currently away on "business" for the Dark Lord- God knows where) are always talking about the security that will have to be implemented once our Manor becomes full time Death Eater headquarters, as the Inner Circle has so often hinted. Mother, however, has refused to let her sister alter a single thing of ours, not until the Dark Lord himself orders it.

Flashing me what she probably thinks is a reassuring smile, my mother digs her wand from her cloak pocket and holds it before her. I'm suddenly struck by a strange thought: non-humans are not allowed to handle wands, by Wizard law. Am I no longer human? But no- the werewolf Remus Lupin was a teacher at Hogwarts, my kind must surely be allowed to handle magic. I strain to remember whether or not I've ever seen Fenrir Greyback cast a spell... but decide to block those recollections from memory as the Knight Bus suddenly appears with a bang in our front drive. Mother grips my arm, pulling me towards the vehicle.

* * *

The Leaky Cauldron bustles with activity as, slightly sickened from the noisy and violent journey, we dismount from the gleaming purple bus.

"Breakfast first, Draco?" My mother steers me towards a small table in the corner of the nearly deserted tavern, raising her hand to Tom the Barkeeper in quick greeting. In no time at all, a smiling maid is taking our orders, and we're left alone to talk before her return. "I was thinking... last night..." Mother bites her lip and begins to crease her napkin as she struggles to find words.

I watch her in silence, playing absentmindedly with the left sleeve of my cloak.

"You don't need to carry on with- with your task, dear." Her blue eyes search me, and her voice becomes softer as if she is uttering an indecency. "I- I want you to be safe... and now that you've- you've, well, taken ill... I'm certain that-"

I hold my hand up, cutting her off. Can't she see? This mission is the last hope of sanity that I have to cling to. Besides, the Dark Lord would never let me off so easily; he's not a Wizard to be let down. "Mother, it's fine, really." I say quietly. "I hardly need help from anyone- not you, not Bella, not one of the other Death Eaters. This is something that I want to do, and you're not going to stop me. Besides, this illness, as you call it, needn't have any impact on my day-to-day life whatsoever. Alright?"

She inclines her blonde head slightly, unable to wipe the crease of worry from between her brows. Just then, the barmaid reappears at our side with breakfast, and we eat in silence.

After the short meal, we hurry from the Leaky Cauldron and through the enchanted brick wall. Diagon Alley looks far different than it did last year when we came to do my school shopping. The street is dirty, and significantly less people are bustling from shop to shop. I purse my lips almost nervously at the sight of my aunt's black-and-white photograph plastered over the windows of many of the store-fronts, along with the pictures of the other escaped Death Eaters. I bet the Ministry would have a fit if they knew that Bellatrix Lestrange was currently living at our manor, or that the other members of the Inner Circle pass by daily. They've conducted raids on us, oh yes, but Mother doesn't like keeping up with the Dark Arts, and so keeps no dangerous artifacts about the place, and Aunt Bella had ample enough warning time to relocate herself while the investigation was in progress. That was almost three months ago, but I don't doubt that those nosy Aurors have been back during my coma.

I'm just about to ask that mother and I separate- that would give me a handy (and much needed) moment to duck into Nockturn Alley- but her compulsive tightening on my hand as we walk is warning enough. She's not about to let me out of her sight.

We dodge past a horde of seedy looking road-side stands selling "protective" paraphernalia, and into Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. The windows are much grimier than I last remembered them. Across the street, I can see the boarded up windows of the small ice-cream parlor. I've missed out on a lot of Death Eater happenings due to the bite, but I'd bet anything that the owner, Florence Whatshisname has been nabbed on the Dark Lord's orders. Mother looks around the darkened room with a look of slight disdain; she's always said that the robes for sale here are outrageously overpriced.

"Can I help you, Madam?" The squat proprietor bustles through the racks of hanging clothes to our side, looking delighted to have customers at last.

"Yes, my son-" Narcissa begins, but I quickly interrupt her, spying an opportunity for escape.

"Mother, I'm in desperate need of wand polish. I think I'll visit Olivander's for a moment, and let you get our robes. You know that I'm no good at clothes shopping..." I smile in that sappy way that women love, employing my most wheedling tone.

"Oh! Haven't you heard?" Madam Malkin gasps, her face suddenly lined with dismal trepidation. "Oh dear, oh dear. Olivander is gone... those wretched supporters of," her voice drops to a tremulous whisper, "You-Know-Who took the poor man away in the night a few weeks ago. Demolished his shop and everything. Pity too- he was such a kind, dear old fellow. A bit odd, but always a good word for everyone. I say, you just don't know who you can trust anymore..."

Mother and I exchange quick glances. The blasted witch is starting to get gossipy- and God knows that when women like her get talking, they never stop. "Quite right." Mother says coldly, her fingers once again tightening on my wrist. "And no, Draco. You mayn't go on your own. It's just as this dear lady said- you don't know who you can trust anymore."

I shoot her a mutinous look. It's going to sound fake if I suddenly pull up another random bit of merchandise that I'm"desperately in need of"- I only wish she had bothered to mention Olivander's sooner. I could have told her that I wanted to go into Gambol and Japes instead. I need to visit Borgin and Burke's today; it might be my last chance to get a look at his Vanishing Cabinet before term starts, and by then it will be to late. The problem is, even if I was comfortable letting my mother know what I'm planning (which I'm not), she most likely won't let me into Knockturn Alley. It was one thing to do our family shopping there when Dad was free and our name held no suspicious connotations, but now that the Dark Lord is back, it's clearly to risky for the wife and son of a known Death Eater to be spotted in an alley devoted to the Dark Arts. We could very well all be sent to jail, which would displease our master even more.

"Mother." I say in refined, mature exasperation as Madam Malkin leads us to the back of the store and busily sets to draping a green robe over my shoulders and pinning it into place. "Please. It'll be ever so much more convenient if we go different ways. I don't want to have to hang around this dingy town any longer than possible. Besides, I'm not a child, in case you haven't noticed, Mother. I am perfectly capable of doing my shopping alone."

The shop bell tingles, and the door swings open behind us. Malkin makes a tutting noise and starts fussing with my collar. "Now, dear, your mother's quite right, none of us is supposed to go wandering around on our own anymore, it's nothing to do with being a child-"She harpoons me in the shoulder with a pin.

"Watch where you're sticking that pin, will you!" I snap, my patience growing thin as I push her away from me. Everyone seems to think that I'm either really stupid, or really weak. Mother, making such a big fuss about my bite, and the mission. Malkin, fawning over me like I was two years old. Dear Aunt Bella, acting like I'm suddenly some chuckle-headed mudblood. I may not be a pureblood anymore, but I'm suddenly beginning to wonder if being a half-breed is really such an issue. Just because I'm different doesn't mean that I no longer have human emotions. I shove past a rack of gaudy dress-robes to the large wall mirror, pausing to look at my reflection.

You'd never really know, just from looking at me, that I'm now a werewolf. I still have the pale skin, white-blond hair, and grey eyes that I was born with. I don't look half as bad as I did last night, either. I straighten the hem of the incomplete robe, glancing again into the mirror. Potter and his two little sidekicks are standing right behind me, their arrogant faces lit by the light from the shop lamps over head. That's it- the last thing I want to deal with right now is the so-called "Chosen One", the Weasel King, and Miss Mudblood, when I'm already stressing over how to escape from my mum.

"If you're wondering what the smell is, Mother, a mudblood just walked in." I say loudly, hoping that if I make things difficult Potter will just pack up and leave us alone. Unfortunately, no such luck.

"I don't think there's any need for language like that! And I don't want wands drawn in my shop, either!" Malkin squeaks weekly, fluttering out from behind her precious clothing racks as Weasley and Potter both whip their wands from their pockets.

Granger grips the boys' shoulders, hissing something in their ear with a worried expression. For a slit second, I'm struck with the paralyzing notion that she might have noticed something- anything different about me; but there's no possible way. She's probably just trying to control the two idiotic prats in front of her.

"Yeah, like you'd dare do magic out of school." I laugh in derision, my eyes lighting on Granger's face, which is marred by a prodigious black eye, like a giant purple ink splotch across her brow and cheek. "Who blacked your eye, Granger? I want to send them flowers." It actually feels better to tease like this; less forced and more relaxed, a welcome contrast to the past couple of days.

"That's quite enough!" Madam Malkin snaps, looking remarkably fierce for such a squat little berk. "Madam- please-" She glances back towards my mother, who pushes out from behind the clothes rack with the haughty expression that she uses whenever she means business.

"Put those away. If you attack my son again, I shall ensure that it is the last thing that you ever do."

"Really?" Potter actually has the audacity to step right up to her, snarling into her face with purest loathing. "Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in, are you?"

Madam Malkin makes a noise like a dying pig, her hands flapping in a dramatic motion towards her copious bosom as if stabbed. I stare at Potter and his cronies, outraged that he would dare to speak of such matters with such ill respect and flippancy. "Really, you shouldn't accuse- dangerous thing to say- wands away, please!"

Potter doesn't obey.

"I see that being Dumbledore's favorite has given you a false sense of security, Harry Potter." My mother says smoothly, her lips curving into a cynical, forced smile. "But Dumbledore won't always be there to protect you."

Potter snorts, staring all around the store with a nasty look on his face. My fists are beginning to curl and tremble in fury. "Wow... look at that... he's not here now! So why not have a go? They might be able to find you a double cell in Azkaban with your loser of a husband!"

That. Is. It. How dare he speak in such a manner to my mother? How dare he violate the name of Malfoy? I lunge at him, stumbling awkwardly over the robes and nearly falling. Weasley laughs sycophantically, his leer widening. "Don't you dare talk to my mother like that, Potter!" My voice shakes as I fight to control myself. Oh, how I'd love to wrap my hands around his scrawny neck... to twist and press until he falls to the floor... to rip his skin right off of his dirty little bones...

"It's all right, Draco." My mother's fingers on my shoulder snap me out of my thoughts, and the rush of blood in my temples begins to recede. "I expect Potter will be reunited with dear Sirius before I am reunited with Lucius."

Potter's lip curls as he raises his wand, about to strike. Granger tries to force his hand away, her face pale and rather sweaty. "Harry, no! Think... you mustn't... you'll be in such trouble..." she dithers faintly.

Malkin opens and closes her mouth for a moment, clearly struggling to think of a solution. After a brief- but very tense- silence, she makes a hasty grab for my arm. "I think this left sleeve could come up a little bit more, dear, let me just-"

Her fingers are about to close around my wrist, just inches below my still healing wound. In a panic, I jerk away from her. "Ouch! Watch where you're putting that pin, woman!" I yell, in an attempt to excuse my sudden movement. "Mother- I don't think I want these any more-" I yank the dark green robes over my head and toss them at the shop owner, wanting nothing more than to just leave this damned place.

"You're right, Draco." Mother sniffs coldly. "Now I know the kind of scum that shops here... we'll do better at Twilfitt and Tatting's." Her fingers brush mine, and I follow her from the store, making sure to knock into Weasley in passing.

The street is even bleaker looking now, as clouds have drifted ominously over the sun. Mother's long blonde hair swings behind her as a slight breeze picks up. I glance in desperation around the alley, my eyes lighting on a violently colorful shop towards the end of the lane. "Mother- Mother, I- would it be all right with you if you went into Twilfitt and Tatting's on your own? I mean, I'd really, really like to go into that- that joke shop. I want to see my friends from school!" I add on a whim, surprised as she begins to smile.

"Of course..." She says a bit hesitantly, gazing towards the store with a nostalgic gleam in her eyes. She seems to be torn between wanting me to stay at her side, and fostering this childish instinct that I've presented her with. Sometimes I rather think she wishes that I was still a little boy. "Yes... Yes, that will do you good, dear. Just- just be very careful, will you? And wait just outside the shop when you're done."

I shoot her my most endearing smile, internally bubbling with a victorious sense of cunning. With a final squeeze of my hand she releases me, turning towards a row of grey stone buildings as I duck away from her and past a small knot of whispering witches and wizards, dressed all in black. I hurry as swiftly as my feet will carry me towards the brightly lit joke shop, pausing only to glance around for any Aurors or officials. The last place I want to be caught is Knockturn Alley.

"Quibbler?"

I whip around, caught unawares by a teenage witch leaning against a shop with a bundle of newspapers in her arms. Her eyes are inhumanly enormous, and her hair is arranged into- oddly enough- three long blonde pigtails.

"No." I say shortly, trying to push past her.

"Oh. That's not very nice of you. And- I say, I know you!" Her dreamy voice rises slightly, and I glance around again to make sure that none of the sparse passers-by are listening in.

"Doubtful." I snap, just as coldly.

"No, but you're the Inquisitorial Squad boy! I hardly recognized you without bats all over your face." She begins to laugh, her weird hairdo flopping. She seems to have strung radishes in her ears.

"Goodbye." I shoot her a final, disdainfully wary look and scramble away before she can open her mouth again. She looks vaguely familiar, now that I think about it. Either way, I don't have time to talk (especially to a member of Dumbledore's Army), and the memory of that Weasley girl's hex is sufficiently painful without reminder. I bite my lip, and hurry past the flashing window of the joke shop, towards the Dark Arts side street and my destination.

* * *

 _A/N: I'm so sorry about the late update- things have been really hectic on my end. There you go- another chapter! I really hope you enjoyed. Thank you all for all of the support!_


	4. Threatened

4\. Threatened

* * *

Thank Merlin the darkened side lane leading into Knockturn Alley is deserted. My footsteps clatter along the slightly damp cobblestone as I glance over my shoulder one last time before hurrying up the steps of Borgin and Burkes. The bell on the grimy door tinkles as I push into the quiet and seemingly deserted shop. Assorted human bones line the shelves and dozens of fascinating Dark artifacts clutter the low display tables, but I have eyes only for the tall black cabinet in front of the dirty, filth stained windows. Sure enough, "Harmionia Nectere Passus" is engraved at the top of the otherwise ordinary-appearing credenza in golden lettering.

"Borgin?" I say loudly, knocking forcefully against the black-wood checkout counter to alert the shop keeper of my presence. He must be here- the door was unlocked. But then again, Knockturn is under a lot of suspicion for it's Dark connotations. Maybe Borgin has done a bunk.

Suddenly, and very quietly, the door to the back room of the store cracks minutely open. "Yes?" A shaking voice replies, as Borgin peers out at me, his greasy hair falling into his mistrustful, pinprick eyes. Evidently recognizing me, he opens the door just enough to slide out, closing it quickly behind him. "How can I help you- sir? I have some _very_ tempting-"

I press my lips together, motioning towards the ebony cupboard. "I don't have for any of your haggling idiocy, Borgin. Am I correct in the notion that that is a Vanishing Cabinet?"

The little man pushes his lank hair from his face, looking rather unnerved. "Y-yes. But, I don't have the companion, so it won't be much use."

"That's not a problem. I know where it is- and _no,_ I'm not selling it to you." I frown as a look of unmistakable greed crosses his face. "The problem is, my Cabinet is broken. Do you have any books or anything on repair?" I gesture impatiently around the shop, and Borgin begins to shake his head.

"I might." He says slowly. "But all for the right price... and it might take some time. Vanishing Cabinets are tricky business, you know. And all information on them is most likely being controlled by the Ministry, you know. Oh yes... they'll want to know why I'm interested... want to explore my reputation, perhaps."

"Well, whatever it takes! I need _something,_ whether it's a pamphlet, a manual, or head-knowledge. Look around, will you? I'll pay you- whatever it takes. Just send me an owl when you have something. In the meantime, I don't suppose that _you_ know how to fix it?"

"Possibly..." Mr. Borgin mumbles hesitantly, glancing shiftily about. "I'll need to see it, though. Why don't you bring it into the shop?"

The stupid man! Why can't he just tell me what he knows so we can be done with it? "I can't!" I say, starting to get rather peeved. "It's got to stay put. I just need to tell me how to do it."

"Well, without seeing it, I must say it will be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn't guarantee anything." He wets his lips and makes a motion as if to back away.

I don't have time for his slimy conniving! With another quick glance out the window to make sure that there are no witnesses, I steel my mind for what I know I must do. "No? Perhaps this will make you more confident." I snarl, stepping towards him and jerking my left sleeve up to expose the raw, ragged marks of the werewolf's teeth in my arm.

The man's eyes widen in fear, and I'm torn between a sudden surge of vindictive victory and fear. What if he tells? What if the Aurors find me and drag me off? "Tell anyone, and there will be retribution. You know Fenrir Greyback? He's a close family friend," I sneer, rather untruthfully. I hate Greyback for what he's done to me- and would rather die than have to lay eyes on him again. But I don't doubt that the combined force of seeing a bite _and_ threat from the actual (and much feared) werewolf will be enough to bend Borgin to my will. "He'll be dropping in from time to time to make sure you're giving the problem your full attention."

"There will be no need for-" He squeaks, but I cut him off with a grim smile.

"I'll decide that." I glance up at the ancient, twisted-metal clock hanging on the wall above the door to Borgin's back office. Ugh!Mother is sure to be wondering where I am by now. "Well, I'd better be off. And don't forget to keep _that_ one safe, I'll need it." I gesture towards the Vanishing Cabinet before turning to leave the shop.

"Perhaps you'd like to take it now?" Borgin interjects hastily.

"No, of course I wouldn't, you stupid little man, how would I look carrying that down the street? Just don't sell it."

"Of course not... sir." Borgin bows so low that the tips of his greasy hair nearly brush the floor. I pause at the door, flooded with an odd sense of appreciation.

"Not a word to anyone, Borgin, and that includes my mother, understand?" I say quietly.

"Naturally, naturally." He bows again, and I smile rather un-humorously.

With a deep breath, I shove the door open and hurry from the shop, unable to keep a slight spring from my step. Mission accomplished- or at least, phase one.

The walk back to Diagon Alley seems quicker than ever, and in no time at all I'm ducking into the brilliantly lit joke shop with an utterly innocent expression. The interior is even more chaotic than the exterior, and I wast no time in hurrying to a smaller and much dimmer back room. It'll look suspicious if I return to my mother with empty hands, so I grab the nearest package of merchandise from the shelf next to me and re-enter the main shop. A witch with short blonde hair in a magenta robe waves me over, and I hurry over to her checkout counter, spilling my packages in front of her.

"Ah. Instant Darkness Powder! It's from Peru, you know." She turns the three satchels over with a bright smile. "Very handy... okay, that'll be three Sickles."

I dig the money from my cloak, paying her quickly and pocketing my purchases. I'm not sure what I'll do with them, as they're more of a decoy to ward off my over protective mother than a serious object of interest for me, but I'm sure I'll find a use for them sooner or later. With a sense of buoyancy due to my walkover with Borgin, I strut from the joke shop to wait for Mother on the front steps.

* * *

"Half-breed!"

I look up quickly from my stack of books. "Yes, _Auntie_?" I say with dispassionate sarcasm, sweeping the Vanishing Cabinet manuals that Borgin managed to send me by owl a few days ago to the side. I've been pouring over them non-stop, but sill don't have a firm idea of how the Cabinets work- and it's nearly the end of the month already! Just two more weeks till term starts... but I'm sure that I'll manage to work a solution out before leaving.

"Your mother has been harping on me to teach you a few important lessons, and since I can't stand her nagging, I've agreed. But don't touch me now, I've just washed up." Bellatrix leans against the shelf of books in front of me, gazing around our manor library with an expression of deepest ennui.

"Yes- fine." I mutter, glaring mutinously up at her. I'm her _nephew_ for God's sake, her disdain of me is getting extremely irritating. Shouldn't blood run thicker than water? Apparently, however, family ties only count when your blood is equally _pure_ ; or at least for my relatives. Even Mother, for all her mawkish doting, seems to be less than eager to get near me of late. I mean, it's not like I look any different. I feel mostly fine... a bit more achy of late... but the full moon isn't for another six days. I've got time.

"All right. Occlumency." My aunt yaws, then sits down a few feet from me at the library desk. "This wont hurt... unfortunately. Just remember though, I can make things a bit more _painful_ if you start acting up, boy. I'm going to use Legilimency to 'read' your thoughts, of sorts, and you'll try to resist. Easy enough, as long as you're able to control your emotions. If my sister and Lucius have done parenting justice, that's the least you should be able to do. Ready? Clear your mind."

I take a deep breath, flushing my feelings to the side and focusing on remaining passive. "Yes."

Bella smirks, raising her wand with a look of acrimonious pleasure. " _Legilimens_." She says softly.

I don't even have time to blink before the images begin flooding in. I'm suddenly three years old, hugging my mother and father over the unwrapped parcel containing my first imitation broomstick. I'm at my eighth birthday party with Pansy, Millie, Blaise, and Theo. I'm eleven years old, smirking proudly down at my Hogwarts letter. Fourteen, entering the Yule Ball with Pansy on my arm... sixteen, pushing past the strange blonde girl and towards Knockturn Alley.

Wait. No.

My mission is for my knowledge alone! Anger and panic start to rise in the back of my mind as the image of Borgin and Burke's begins to swim into view. With a deep subconscious breath, I calm myself and attempt to shut the memory down. I can't let my aunt know what my plan is... she'll try to steal my idea- my glory!

"No!" I whisper, blinking Bellatrix's groping spell away and rising to my feet. "No... that's none of your business. How much did you see?"

The older woman snickers, also standing. "Enough to know that you went down a rather _Dark_ path last week. So, you fed your mother some cock-and-bull story about a joke shop in order to escape, I suppose? What were you _really_ doing?"

"Whatever it was, I wouldn't be likely to tell you now, would I?" I snap, then instantly backpedal as her fingers begin to inch towards her wand. "Fine... fine, I went into Borgin's shop to... get my Hand of Glory fixed." I lie quickly.

Bellatrix's angry leer slowly abates, but she doesn't remove her hand from her wand. "We've done enough today. It's impressive that you were able to resist my penetration for the first time, I must say. Or, for a half-breed, at least." She turns slowly, sweeping her long dark hair over her shoulder. "If I were you, I'd start putting that 'Outstanding' you scraped up in Potions O.W.L.s to use. Wolfsbane is bleeding tricky to make, I hear, and Snape won't be around here before the full moon to do it for a little suggestion, boy."

I scowl at her back as she retreats through the dark shelves of books, unable to repress the feeling of terror that's beginning to bubble up inside of my stomach. She's right; the Hogwarts Potions Master won't be around to help me... and even if he was, I don't think I could stand the shame of telling him of my... _condition_.


	5. 394

5\. Three Hundred and Ninety-Four

* * *

One night until the full moon. One _rud_ _dy_ night. I turn over in my bed, looking at my pale hands with a mixture of fear and resentment. I hate everybody; Bellatrix, my mother, Professor Snape for being away- wherever he is. I loath my father for being stupid enough to be captured- it was his failings, after all, that have brought this upon me- Potter too, that bleeding "Chosen One" causing trouble for everyone who crosses his path. I even hate the Dark Lord... and it's that emotion that is making me thankful that four days of Occlumency lessons with my Aunt have paid off. I detest myself even, with my filthy blood and lack of self control. Above all, I execrate Fenrir Greyback. Where is he now, I wonder? Preparing to ruin another boy's life? Or perhaps this time he's poised to kill an innocent little girl instead.

How do other werewolves stand the pain of this? My whole body is sore and aching, my head is pounding, my eyes are on fire. I've lost over three pounds in four days, as well. Our old professor, Remus Lupin, had to miss out on teaching an entire class he was so ill. I guess I wont be able to do anything during the moon, either.

Seized with a sudden jolt of inspiration, I ease from my bed and hurry over to the stacks of bookshelves on the far side of my room. I've held on to all my school textbooks over the years, painstakingly arranging them according to grade and subject, so it's no struggle at all to locate my third year Defense Against The Dark Arts manual.

What did Professor Snape say the day he filled in for Lupin? Turn to page... page three hundred and ninety-four. That's it- the chapter on werewolves!

With the light of the faintly flickering fire to guide me, I scurry back to bed, pulling the green and silver covers over my lap and tapping my bedside candle with my wand. It rises into the air, floating directly above me. Father told me years ago that the ministry can't detect the actual user of magic, only the location. As Malfoy Manor is home to adult witches and wizards who use magic hourly, there's no chance that I'll get in trouble for my little spell.

"Page three hundred and ninety-four..." I mutter, flipping frantically through the book. And then, there it is. Drawing the candle a bit closer, I squint down at the tiny ink markings, attempting to focus on the chapter instead of the migrainal pounding in my head. It's all there- ways to identify a werewolf while in human form, werewolves verses actual wolves, werewolf _control_ , the _dangers_ of werewolves, practical _defense_ tips when it comes to facing one...

I snap the book closed, feeling sick. Of course, I always feel sick nowadays, but this nausea is for a more sinister reason. I've never really thought about anything like this before, but the concept that Hogwarts students are _learning_ to fear creatures like me is terrifying. I can hardly blame the author of the book or the teacher of the class, however. I'm nothing but a monster; I deserve this, as do others like me.

Rolling over, I squeeze my eyes closed, letting the dim tangerine glow from the dying embers in the fireplace wash over my darkened lids. Sleep is my only way of escape- my only relief from pain and misery. Within a few moments the world fades into dreams, and not even the heavy sound of _The Essential Defense Against The Dark Arts_ by Arsenius Jigger tumbling to the floor is enough to rouse me.

* * *

"Draco."

I grunt drowsily at the touch of a light hand on my shoulder.

"Wake up!" My mother's voice becomes higher, more frantic, as she shoves me again.

Somnolent eyelids flicking open, I blink at her increasingly overwrought face. My hands hurt... "Mmf." I shift, picking myself up from the... _floor_? Wait a second... I was in bed! "How- what?"

"Are you all right?" Mother helps me to my feet, her eyes huge. My mouth falls open at the first glimpse of my room.

Someone has smudged the same three numbers over and over on the walls. 394. From the small powdery black hand-prints and ash strewn floor, it's not hard to gather that the artist used soot from the now-extinguished fireplace as paint. Instinctively, I look down at my one hands. Raw pink blisters crack my skin, and my fingers are covered in smokey black powder. Bewildered, I stare up at my mother.

"Draco, did you do this?" Her pale brow creases as she walks slowly over to the green-papered wall and begins to rub at the uneven numbers.

"I- I..." I bite my lip in confusion. I can't remember doing anything of the kind; I know better than to make a mess in the manor and have enough brains to resist plunging my hands into a searing hot fireplace. As far as I can recall, I sank into a deep sleep filled with disturbing dreams of my hook-nosed professor, Severus Snape, leering over me and brandishing _The Essential Defense Against The Dark Arts_ while my classmates roared with derisive laughter. "I don't think so..." I mumble, a foggy idea of last night's events beginning to form in the back of my mind. I don't sleepwalk often- I haven't for _years_ \- but the last time it happened I awoke in the middle of the powder-blue drawing room with my mother's best antique vase in my arms and not the slightest clue of how I had gotten there.

With a tutting noise, Mother strides across the soft carpet and seizes my hands. "You're all burned up! Why would you _do_ this? Oh... Draco, you don't look well." Her matronly anger is suddenly replaced by matronly concern as her voice trails off.

"Well, of course I don't look well. I've got about twelve hours until my body will mutate into a savage man-eating monster." I say quietly, wiping my sooty hands on my just-as-dirty pajamas. "I'm going to take a shower; I'll clean up when I'm done."

"No... no... I'll get it." She pulls her wand from her dressing-gown pocket, waving it over the wallpaper with a defeated expression. " _Scorgify_. B-before you go, love... let me fix your hands." I sigh, holding them out to her, palms up. " _Episkey."_ My fingers flash between tingling cold and burning heat, though the blisters clear almost instantly. Before I can get a chance to thank her, however, my mother opens her mouth again. "Y-you aren't m-mad at me, are you?" She begins to blink very rapidly, her lower lip trembling just the slightest.

"No- well, yeah. A little bit. I mean, I don't think that any of this is your fault... but I just wish that you could _understand_ better." I grunt rather unwillingly.

"Understand what?" Narcissa breathes, her blue eyes beginning to overflow with tears.

I want to yell at her, make her comprehend that this is exactly what I mean: she doesn't understand anything that I say. She's always acting like she knows me, but she doesn't. Mother and I used to be quite close; I never looked up to her in the way that I did Father, but she was still the most comforting presence in my life. Now, however, she's more of a nuisance. I can't confide in her- my thoughts are private and so is my mission- nor can she confide in me. When I really think about it, I know almost nothing about her in the day-to-day sense. With a final bitter glace at the still barely visible marks of my unconscious night-time wanderings, I shake my head. "It's okay... you just wouldn't. Look, I've got some time before nightfall, and I intend to make the most of it. So 'scuse me, a shower is calling my name."

With a rather painfully forced smile, I shoulder past her and towards the door of my personal bathroom, ignoring her snuffling wails as she dissolves into tears.

* * *

"You don't think that I'm a monster, do you Bonnefoi?" I stroke my eagle owl's grey-speckled head glumly, unable to ignore the apprehensive looks that she keeps shooting me. I'm sure she wishes that she was free right now- hunting or something- instead of pinned down by a depressed freak who is badly in need of company. My entire body hurts, burning like fire. The wound on my left arm has reopened and is practically throbbing. I glance at the silver clock on the mantle above my fireplace; it's five thirty in the evening. Only an hour or two until sundown. What will I do? Surely I can't stay in my room- it would be too easy to escape.

It's only with the greatest difficulty that I'm able to drag myself from my bed at the sound of a rough knock. Bonnefoi seizes the moment for escape and begins easing herself out of my partially open window.

"What?" I snap, jerking the bedroom door open and bushing my white-blond hair from my eyes. Bellatrix Lestrange leers down at me, her cheeks flushed and her hair wild. Trembling behind her is my mother, who is holding a lacy handkerchief over her face and wailing like it's the end of the world. "What do you want?" I protest angrily as my aunt grabs ahold of the back of my robes and literally starts dragging me down the ill-lit hall.

"Bella! Please..." Mother sniffles, a fresh rain of tears beginning to stream from her blue eyes.

"Fine. You want to be the one to rope him in the dungeon? Be my guest!" My aunt spits, pausing long enough to flash Narcissa a disdainful look before resuming her march.

"Wha-" I begin, but Mother cuts me off.

"Isn't there another _way_? There has to be..."

"What the-" Bella jerks my collar, rattling me into silence.

"I know you too well, Cissy. When push comes to shove, you'll chose your precious velvet curtains over keeping this half-breed close."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Mother stamps her foot, lowering the handkerchief and revealing a particularly blotchy face.

"Did you ever even study Dark creatures?" Bellatrix snorts, pulling a thin chain of keys from around her neck and inserting one into the demure looking door leading to the dungeons and cellars. "Cissy, a werewolf will ravage _anything_ and _everything_ that gets in its way. Still want to keep Draco in the parlor? I didn't think so."

"Will someone please tell me what the-"

For the third time I'm interrupted, as the three of us descend into the dim stone corridor below the foundation of Malfoy Manor. "We're locking you up in one of the cells for the night, you filthy little berk. Cissy was foolish enough to entertain the notion that you could just curl up at the foot of her bed and snooze the full moon away, but at least I had some sense!" Bellatrix bangs her long fingers against the bars of each dank room as she passes, her eyes gleaming bright in the semi-darkness. "This will solve the problem for tonight... but as to what you'll do when your term starts next week, I neither know or care." She jams a heavy metal key into the padlock outside an especially cramped cell, smiling nastily as it clicks. One turn of a handle, a vicious push, and a fresh outburst of tears from Mother later, I'm crumpled face-down on the damp flagstone floor.

"I- I just... No! Bella... we can't do this! He's just a little boy..." Narcissa bawls, grabbing her older sister by the arm and burying her face in the latter's dark hair.

" _Incarcerous._ " My aunt snaps, flicking her wand in my direction. Thick, heavy cords snake around me, halting my attempts to rise. "It doesn't matter how _old_ he is! Can't you see? I don't give a- oh... _Cissy_." Bellatrix rolls her eyes as Mother slumps to the floor in a dead faint. "Boy!" She wheels on me, a vicious frown on her dark brow.

"Just leave me. Make sure that I can't escape and then let me be." I mutter between gritted teeth, leaning against the cold stone wall and trying not to focus on the pain in my bones.

Bella simply laughs, rattling the bars of the cell before waving her wand over my mother's still figure. _"Levioso_." She grunts, and marches out of view with Mother drifting corpse-like behind her, about three feet in the air.

No one understands. I sigh, sifting slightly under the crushing strain of my bindings. No one seems to understand how I feel, how much this hurts- both physically and emotionally. Of course, I never expected sympathy from my aunt, nor from many folks at all, for that matter. I'd hardly tell anyone about the bite, so there would be no cause for them to think anything was wrong. But from my mother... I'm not sure how I thought she would react. It seems like everything has just happened too fast. One day I was normal, the next I was not. I can at least say that I desire something more from her, though; I wish that she would focus more on _me_ instead of _her_. She can cry that I'm "just a little boy" all she wants, but that won't change the obvious. Every time she looks at me, I can see fear and apprehension in her eyes. She doesn't want to get close to me anymore, let alone touch me. Her tears are all for her: what a _shame_ I am on the family, what a _burden_ on her back, what a _disappointment_ as a child.

It makes me sick.

I groan, wincing as another spasm of pain courses over me. I have no idea what time it is, but the dungeon is now utterly dark. Quite honestly (and for lack of a more elegant term) this sucks. The minutes seem to drag by, the agony increasing with each passing second and I lie limply under the tight coil of chains. Blinking back tears in the pick black, and explosion of torturous stars seem to burst from my brain, spinning across my eyes.

For a fleeting moment, I'm vaguely aware of straining at my ropes... but then, everything goes red.

* * *

I can't think of anything on earth that could hurt more than this. I feel like I've been split open, disemboweled, turned inside out, and then flayed in a vat of boiling oil. I grunt, my fingers gouging into chinks in the flagstone floor as I ease myself into a sitting position. Last I can recall, I was leaning against the wall bound in thick ropes, but now I'm in front of the cell door, the remains of my restrains strewn all over the little cell. My clothes are tattered, my nails broken, and blood staining the walls, floor, and my own torn skin. I think my nose is broken.

"Ugh." With aching finality, I flick the remnants of my aunt's now-shredded bindings off of my arm, scrambling awkwardly to my feet. At least I didn't hurt anyone.

So _this_ is what Remus Lupin goes through every month. I wonder how old he was when he was bitten- how many years of this torture he's had to endure. I rattle the front bars of the cell, my hands still bleeding profusely under the morning light. "Mother!" I call, hoping that she, and not Bella, will be the one to unlock me from my prison. Just peachy; I'll have to go through this twelve times a year, every year, for the rest of my life.

And I thought _girls_ had it rough with _their_ monthly cycle.

With another moan of misery, I rest my forehead against the cell door, waiting for someone to come and rescue me from this hell.

* * *

 _A/N: I'm sorry about the late update, and I also hope that this chapter isn't too terrible! I had a tough time writing this one, as I've been super busy. Next, however, is Hogwarts, and then I can get to the good stuff! (Read: Luna Lovegood)_

 _Thank you all so much for taking the time to read, and for all the support! If you have a spare moment, please consider dropping a review down below! I'm more than open for a little constructive criticism._


	6. Control

6\. Control

* * *

 _A/N: Some of the dialogue and events are either from or similar to the happenings in Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince, chapter seven, The Slug Club. I don't think that I own anything to do with Harry Potter, and all recognizable characters and places belong to JK Rowling._

* * *

"All packed, love?"

My mother peers tentatively around the doorway into my bedroom. A jar filled with a mint-green salve is clutched in her trembling hand. I rock back on the balls of my feet, looking up from my trunk with a grumpy expression.

"Here, I brought you more dittany." She smiles slightly, hurrying to my side and hunching down to unscrew the container. "Let me do that for you..." She reaches for her wand, about to pronounce the incantation that will whisk all of my belongings into their rightful places inside my trunk.

"I'll do it by hand; we have time." I snap, and she recoils with a pained expression. I snatch the extract of dittany from her and promptly continue with arranging my ties. Mother has been walking on eggshells around me ever since the morning after the full moon- not that I haven't given her reason to be on tenterhooks. The stress of returning to school and combined panic over my mission and dealing with my next transformation in a month have made me a veritable time-bomb, likely to explode at any given moment.

"Well... all right then. I'll leave you be." She retorts with a hint of quiet sullen.

"Good." I cram a satchel of Bonnefoi's owl nuts into the suitcase before forcing the lid down and doing up the latches. Glancing quickly towards the silver wall clock, I can feel my stomach sinking; it's eight thirty. Just an hour or two and I'll be facing my fellow students... entering the Prefect's compartment and sitting down- possibly across from the Mudblood Granger and Potter's pet Weasel. Peachy. With a huff, I begin dabbing the dittany over the still present (and extremely sore) cuts and bruises. The salve works to ease the pain quickly, but does nothing to fade the marks of my self-destructive transformation.

Straightening up, I toss the jar of extract carelessly onto my green-blanketed bed before snatching up my favorite book ( _Quidditch Through The Ages)_ and on second thought, the three packets of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder that I chanced to buy in Diagon Alley early this August. I'm sure I'll find a use for them somehow. I stuff the book and powder into my carry-on satchel, waving my wand over my suitcase. " _Locomortor trunk_." I balance Bonnefoi (looking peeved inside her cramped silver cage) on top of the heavy leather container as it lifts into the air, drifting demurely behind me as I shoulder my small backpack, check my pale reflection in my bedside mirror, and duck from my bedroom.

Bellatrix is, thank goodness, away with a group of fellow Death Eaters. The last thing I want is to have her included as part of my school-bound journey. Mother sits in the parlor, her face still flushed from our recent argument and her long hair pinned up beneath a lacy witch's cap. "There's breakfast in the kitchen. I don't feel like getting up and serving you. You are, as you keep telling me, and _adult_ now." She says sourly, without looking up from her novel ( _The Pure Wife_ by Anastasia Honeysuckle).

"Fine. Fine, that's all I ever wanted anyway!" I retort, storming into the kitchen and casting a disdainful glance at the charger of bacon on the elaborate marble drainboard. She did that on purpose; she know's I'm a vegetarian- and have been for ten solid years! I fume silently, jerking a rich oak cabinet open and then slamming it closed again for the simple pleasure of making the angry noise. I freeze suddenly, my eyes alighting on the half empty bottle of my Aunt Bella's red wine, glinting ruby-like on the bottle-rack. She's away... she'd never know if I took just a sip to mute my feelings. My long fingers are just brushing the crystal flagon when my mother enters the kitchen, looking pensive. I step back quickly, pretending to be engaged in searching for a breakfast substitute in the overhead cabinets.

"I- I wanted to apologize to you, Draco." Mother says quietly. "As your mother, I should have handled that differently; I can't bear the thought of parting for the term on bad relations... especially w-with your father g-gone. Would you like me to make you any food? She catches herself quickly, pinning an efficient smile onto her pale face.

"It's fine. I know I've been beastly." I admit blandly, returning the smile. "But no... I'm not particularly hungry. Let's just get going, shall we?"

With a deft nod, Mother dodges my still-hovering trunk and hastens from the kitchen to get her robes; we'll be doing side-along Apparition directly to Station 9 3/4 as usual. "All right." Dodging back into the kitchen, now enveloped in a shining silver fox-fur drape, she claps her slender hands together briskly, her face illuminated by the old light of strong beauty that I used to see every day. Funny how an apology can fix so much, I guess. "Have you got everything all packed up?"

"Yeah." I brush my hair from my eyes, following her from the room with my satchel over my shoulder and my full-to-bursting trunk drifting obediently at my heels with my eagle owl squawking disconsolately on top. It's a mark of my Mother's attempts to reunite the peace between us that she doesn't reprimand me for enchanting my luggage outside of school. We link hands, and I rest my free fingers on my suitcase as Mother turns on the spot, jerking me into nothingness at her side. The compression forcing in around me on all sides is ghastly, but something that I'll need to get used to since I'll be taking Apparition lessons later this year.

* * *

Platform 9 3/4 is a bustle of noise, teenage bodies, and and the colorful clothes that will soon be exchanged for dour black robes. Bonnefoi ruffles her feathers and emits a low noise of disgruntled relief- Apparition must be just about as pleasant for her as it is for me. I glance around me, recognizing several of the students near me: Theodore Nott shaking his father's hand in farewell (of course it would be _his_ dad that got free, not mine). A pneumatic girl with curly strawberry-blonde hair and a heavy layer of makeup, clutching her lithe Asian friend's arm pushes past me, holding her hand over her face as if to shield it from sight. I recognize both witches from last year; the plump one snitched on Dumble _dork's_ Army for Professor Umbridge, and her friend was a "D.A." herself.

Mother pulls me into an embrace without moment's hesitation; the first time she has actually had full body contact with me since my bite. I pat her shoulder rather awkwardly as she rises to her tiptoes to peck my cheek. "Be safe, love..." She whispers in an undertone. "By the time term is over, I'll make sure that you come home to a reunited family- your Father and all!" I nod quickly, blinking as a wave of smog passes over us, issuing from the faintly rumbling scarlet Hogwarts Express. "Oh, and Draco... don't- don't do anything that could endanger you. Promise me that if you ever find yourself needing help with _anything_ you'll go to a teacher. Professor Snape is here to help you, remember that! Give me your word?"

I wince. My mission has been a rather tabooed topic around Malfoy Manor, and I really wish that Mother hadn't brought it up now. There is no way on earth that I'm going to Professor Snape! Absolutely none; he'll try to horn in on all of my hard work and glory. I mean, I have no _idea_ what I'm going to do, but whatever it is, my plans won't have _anything_ to do with him. "I'll be good, Mum." I say shortly, hefting my trunk in one hand and Bonnefoi's cage in the other. "I love you! Be well." Turning quickly from her so as not to risk anymore uncomfortable conversation, I pick my way over the teeming platform and towards the waiting locomotive.

When I chance a final glance back over my shoulder, Mother is already gone.

"Ouch! Hey, watch where you're going!"

I blink, snapping back to face the girl in front of me. Her long dirty-blonde hair falls over her face as she stoops down to pick up the satchel of books and newspapers that I've knocked from her arms. "Watch where you're going next time." I say coldly, narrowing my eyes to meet her silver ones as she straightens back up. She's rather column-built with a long waist and narrow shoulders- not that I _notice_ her like that, obviously!

"Actually it was you who should watch out." She says rather floatily. "Oh, hello again, Inquisitorial Squad boy. Quibbler?"

"No."

"Maybe I should get your name, just in case you run me over again. I could tell you off properly, that way." Her tone is completely vacant and her eyes are drifting around a spot rather to the left of my ear.

"None of your business." I say coolly. I don't even know this weirdo! She could be a Mudblood or a Potter Worshiper- God only knows!

"Okay then." She shrugs her thin shoulders dispassionately, and then bends over to harvest the rest of her fallen papers.

"Okay then." I'm not sure why I'm lingering like an idiot; it just feels so _strange_ to meet someone who doesn't seem to give to much as two thoughts about what I say or do. "Fine." I push past her with a slight huff, wishing that I could have at least made some color rise to her cheeks, perhaps a cheeky comment issue from her lips... _anything_ to let me know that she even heard a word of what I said! I sigh as I heave my heavy trunk up the walkway into the crimson train.

It's a strange sensation that floods me as I walk down the center hallway, past compartments full of _normal_ boys and girls, most of whom don't have a care in the world. Well, I guess all of those foolish non-supporters of the Dark Lord have a problem, since they're sure not to last long once the proper balance of power is restored, but they're not aware of that. An older Slytherin boy grins fleetingly at me as I pass him. Little does he know that he just brushed shoulders with a filthy half-breed: a _werewolf_. If my old friends had any idea of what has happened, I figure that I'd never so much as see a single on of them again. Don't get me wrong, they're great pals, loyal to the end... unless that "end" is the end of your _blood purity_.

I pause for a second outside the Prefects' rooms, debating whether or not to join the other select fifth, sixth, and seventh years. In the end, skiving off wins. There's simply no way that I'm settling into a seat with that Granger girl, or Potter and Weasley. I just _can't_! I wouldn't call this emotion shame- a Malfoy is never _ashamed-_ no, it's more caution. All three of them were close to the werewolf Remus Lupin a few years ago; they might be able to recognize the signs, and I can't risk that. With a sigh, I shift the weight of my luggage and continue down the corridor as the train begins to lurch into motion.

"Draco! Hey, Draco!" Blaise Zabini slides a compartment door open, beckoning me forward with a smirk. He grasps my shoulder for a fleeting moment as I bundle myself into the chamber, hoisting my trunk into the luggage rack above and sliding into the seat across from him with Bonnefoi in my lap. "Didn't expect to see you here yet! Aren't you supposed to be getting ready for Prefect duty?"

"Nope. I can do what I like, Zabini. There'll always be do-gooders like Weasley and Granger to take care of the patrols- no one will even miss me." I grin rather humorlessly as he raises his arching, dark eyebrows.

A loud laugh outside causes me to turn my head, peering through the glassy door. Speak of the devil. The Boy-Who-Lived's ginger sidekick himself comes sauntering right down the hall, the Mudblood in his wake. He pauses, staring insolently at me, his stupid mouth open and his expression accusing. I meet his glare, pressing my hand dispassionately against the glass and showing off certain select fingers in a well-deserved gesture which he promptly returns.

Blaise laughs quietly as we watch the tall boys retreating back as he heads towards the Prefect's compartment. "The prat." The Italian boy mutters blithely, digging a magazine from his carry-on and leaning back to read. I fold my arms, closing my eyes and feigning sleep.

My mind is racing. What will I do first when we get back to Hogwarts? There's so much; I have to find the Vanishing Cabinet, figure out how to fix it, either make some Wolfsbane Potion of my own or discover a place where I can transform in safety...

The door to the compartment slides open, and my two best friends squeeze their way in. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle both sit rather breathlessly beside Blaise, raising their hands in a kind of salutation to me before tucking their trunks away in the rack.

"Had a good summer, Malfoy?" Crabbe pulls a comic from his backpack, flipping through it until he finds his pre-marked spot.

"Eventful." I say quietly, smirking just a bit as the three boys across from me all register signs of curiosity. "But story time's not till later, kids." I add significantly, rather enjoying their reactions. I love it when people actually _care_ about what I have to say... it feels _nice_.

"So..." Blaise yaws, crossing one leg over his knee and looking bored. "What are you reading, Crabbe?"

The larger boy grins rather gormlessly, flourishing his comic. " _Pureblood Vendetta_. Latest issue, too. Have you got it yet, Draco?" He looks expectantly at me, and I open my heavily lidded eyes a bit more.

"No. I don't do _that_ anymore." I lie. Truth be told, I've either been too comatose or busy to purchase comic books this summer, but I'd rather make it sound as if I'm grown up rather than burdened.

"What?" Crabbe and Goyle chorus in bewildered amazement.

"Why not?" Gregory demands, his thick brows furrowed. "I thought that you collected all of the _Pureblood Vendetta_ issues! Like, since the Dark Lord's last rise to power, even ones that were printed before you were born!" He lowers his voice slightly, still looking astonished.

"Yeah, well, maybe I have _better_ things to do!" I protest defensively, instantly regretting my words. I have to be more careful! I can't just blab information like this.

"Sure. Like what?" Blaise lowers his magazine, looking skeptical.

"Tell you later." I say quickly, not intending to do so in the least. The Italian boy opens his mouth to speak, but is interrupted by the opening of the compartment door for the third time.

"Where were you?" Pansy Parkinson demands, pointing accusingly at me. "I had to sit all alone in the Prefect's cabin because no one wanted to get near me after that antler incident last year. I could have used you with me, Draco!" She snaps, her hands on her plump hips and an expression of vexation on her pretty face.

"Sorry. Thought I might not need to do the duty today." I mutter, scooching over slightly as she sits beside me.

"Well, you did. Where's the lunch trolley? I'm famished." She snaps, her hazel eyes still narrowed.

"No wonder you're so grumpy." Zabini quips, an expression of wicked glee on his dark face. Even I laugh a bit as Pansy softens. "Look, here it might be now!" Blaise leans forward, but his excitement vanishes at the revelation that instead of the candy laden trolley, our visitor is a tired looking second year boy.

"I was told to give this invitation to Mr. Zabini." He explains, tucking a strand of his long brown hair behind his ear and tossing Blaise a roll of parchment done up in a violet ribbon. I straighten up a bit, half expecting one as well, but the boy has vanished back into the corridor before I can do so much as blink.

"Oohh! What is it, Blaise?" Pansy leans forward, her two short french braids bobbing.

"Dunno." He unravels it deftly, squinting at the page. "Hm. I guess I'll be eating with our new Professor today. Slughorn... haven't heard of him." He shrugs, shouldering his backpack and reaching for the door.

"I've heard of him." I offer, "My father said that he was his favorite teacher in Dad's school days. Potions though... which means that-"

"Professor Snape might finally get his Defense Against the Dark Arts job, unless this Slughorn wants a change from Potions!" Pansy exclaims, grinning excitedly.

Blaise shrugs in noncommittal acceptance. I bite my lip as he leaves, wondering what on earth _Zabini_ did to get noticed by a teacher. I mean, _I'm_ the Prefect!

The other Slytherins exchange glances of mild interest, before Crabbe returns to his comic and Goyle digs his patchy cat from its carrying case. Pansy gives me a long look, her lips slightly parted. "You look tired..." She breathes after a few moments, leaning in a bit closer. "I haven't seen you for a while."

I sigh, feeling wearier than ever. "Yeah. I _am_ tired."

She smiles broadly, patting her lap. "Well, would you like to lie down?"

* * *

After several hours of Exploding Snap, chatting, and getting clawed by Goyle's grouchy cat every time the train lurches, I'm beginning to get worried about Zabini. Well, worried isn't the right word- I'm feeling more of a mixture between impatience, curiosity, and envy. I still can't, for the life of me, figure out why any teacher would want to bother with Blaise instead of me! Sure, he's good looking according to the girls, but my grades are better and my father is richer. Pansy's fingers run through my hair as the train rolls on.

"You look like you're thinking hard." She says softly, her long eyelashes swishing.

"Yeah." I shrug a bit, looking up into her almond shaped eyes with interest. She'd never welcome me onto her lap if she knew who- no, _what_ I really am; I'll never find someone who really loves me for what I actually am. I bite my lip as my thoughts begin to grow more depressing by the second. "Merlin... where _is_ he?"

I sit up a bit, glancing out of the window and into the hallway beyond. A group of small children are running up and down the corridor, their cloaks flapping behind them as they giggle. First years, ready for the adventure of their lifetime; I guess I was like that once, all excited to prove myself and bring my House honor. I just pity whichever of those kids will be sorted into Slytherin. Sure, it's a noble, worthy House, but not according to all the others. It kind of saps ones exhilaration to be labeled as "evil" for seven years of ones life... and the stereotypes don't end with graduation. I roll my eyes as one of the girls pulls out her brand new wand, flourishing it uselessly at the boy facing her. If I cared, I should do my Prefect's duty by telling her that magic is not allowed in the corridor... but I just _don't_ , so whatever.

The night has long fallen by the time that Blaise returns from Slughorn's little meeting. Pansy grins up at him as he slides the compartment door open, slipping inside and beginning to close it behind him. He grunts, slamming the door repeatedly, trying to jam it shut. "What's wrong with this thing?" He almost yells, straining to get the door to slide past what seems to be an invisible barrier. Suddenly, Blaise is hurled back into Goyle's lap as the door springs back open. Goyle's cat screeches, streaking from the compartment as the two boys tussle. Pansy emits a small shriek and I scramble into an upright position. For the strangest split second, I could swear that a white trainer is floating in mid air without any leg to support it. But then, I blink, and it's gone. Gregory shoves Blaise off of him and jerks the compartment door shut at last.

Crabbe swears under his breath, reopening _Pureblood Vendetta_ with a shake of his head. Laughing slightly, I lay back resting my head back in Pansy's curvaceous lap and allowing her to resume the gentle play with my hair. "So, Zabini," I grin up at Pansy, the bright lantern-light casting shadows over her full-cheeked face. "What did Slughorn want?"

Blaise rubs his arm, looking at Gregory with belligerence. "Just trying to make up to well-connected people. Not that he managed to find many."

Good; so maybe he just over-looked me, and then he'll send an invitation next time, seeing as his search was somewhat unsuccessful. "Who else had he invited?"

"McLaggen from Gryffindor." Blaise digs his magazine back out from his backpack.

Ha- that _classic_ big head Gryffindor. "Oh, yeah, his uncle's big in the Ministry." Rolling my eyes, I mentally run through the other famous or wealthy students her at Hogwarts.

"Someone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw-"

Pansy's eyes widen slightly, and her upturned nose wrinkles disdainfully. "Not him, he's a prat!" She squeaks, but before I can ask her how she knows this "Belby", Blaise continues.

"- and Longbottom, Potter and that Weasley girl."

I jerk upright, feeling annoyed. "He invited _Longbottom_?" That is totally unfair! What does he see in that Squib that he doesn't see in me?

"Well, I assume so, as Longbottom was there." Blaise shrugs dispassionately. Sometimes his constant indifference really bugs me.

"What's Longbottom got to interest Slughorn?" I snap. Blaise just laughs and shrugs again. "Potter, precious Potter, obviously he wanted a look at the _Chosen One_!" I shake my head; the injustice of Potter's stupid press still rankles. "But that Weasley girl! What's so special about _her?"_ I continue on a different note, genuinely confused.

"A lot of boys like her." Pansy says quietly, her fingers brushing her now empty lap as she glances suspiciously at me. Well, she sure doesn't have to worry about _me_ getting the hots from the female Weasel- she's not even clever! "Even you think she's good-looking, Blaise, and we all know how hard you are to please!"

"I wouldn't touch a filthy little blood traitor like her whatever she looked like." Blaise growls.

I should hope not! Pansy smirks, clearly relaxing. I figure that I might as well clear my feelings up right away as well, and so I sink back into Pansy's lap, allowing her to continue petting my hair. "Well, I pity Slughorn's taste." I say, trying to keep the element of envy from my voice. "Maybe he's going a bit senile!" I add hopefully. "Shame, my father always said he was a good wizard in his day. My father used to be a bit of favorite of his. Slughorn probably hasn't heard I'm on the train, or-"

"I wouldn't bank on an invitation. He asked me about Nott's father when I first arrived. They used to be old friends, apparently, but when he head he'd been caught at the Ministry he didn't look happy, and Nott didn't get an invitation, did he?" Blaise looks up from his magazine, dark eyes slightly narrowed. "I don't think Slughorn's interested in Death Eaters."

I can feel an angry flush rising to my cheeks. Why not? We're the best of society, we have so much to offer! _Yeah... like a werewolf bite..._ A tiny voice in the back of my head seems to say, but I ignore it, forcing out a bitter laugh instead. "Well, who care what he's interested in? What is _he_ , when you come down to it? just some stupid teacher!" Yeah, that's right! Just a bother, when you really think about it. I yawn grandly, feeling a bit bolstered. "I mean, I might not even be at Hogwarts next year, what's it matter to me if some fat old has-been like me or not?"

Pansy freezes, her hazel eyes becoming dangerously bright. "What do you mean, you might not be at Hogwarts next year?"

Oh crumbs... I didn't really mean that. I might _not_ be at Hogwarts next year, but not for any positive reason! Covering my concern up instantaneously, I blurt the first thing that comes to mind in my most smoothly tantalizing way. "Well, you never know. I might have- er- moved on to bigger and better things."

Crabbe and Goyles mouths fall open disbelief, their dull eyes widening. Blaise lowers his magazine, looking just the slightest bit surprised, while Pansy resumes her stroking of my hair with a horrified but simultaneously inspired expression. "Do you mean- _Him_?" She whispers in awe.

Just great... I hadn't intended to lead things down the "Dark Lord" path at all! I'm supposed to be keeping all of this secret! It would be one thing in front of Gregory, Theodore, and Vincent, who are all Death Eater's kids, but Pansy and Blaise have never had any family connections with the Dark Lord, not matter how they might respect him. I shrug, attempting to gloss things over while still coming out of the situation as looking impressive. "Mother wants me to complete my education, but personally, I don't see it as that important these days." I remark, a bit untruthfully. Do I see my education as somewhat unimportant considering this recent turn of events? Well, _yes_. Do I figure my Mother would be upset if I dropped out of school? No doubt about it! But I still want to do my best in _everything_ , including my school-work. "I mean, think about it..." I resume my monologue, inwardly cursing me and my big mouth. "When the Dark Lord takes over, is he going to care about how many O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s anyone's got? Of course he isn't... it'll be all about the kind of service he received, the level of devotion he was shown."

Blaise snorts in derision. "And you think _you'll_ be able to do something for him? Sixteen years old and not even fully qualified yet?"

Yes. Yes, I do think that actually. "I've just said, haven't I? Maybe he doesn't care if I'm qualified! Maybe the job he wants me to do isn't something that you need to be qualified for." I say softly but potently. I grin inwardly at the sight of my friend's admiring faces. There- I just managed to shock and impress everyone without giving away any truly crucial information. Go me. "I can see Hogwarts," I gesture out the dark window and towards the night sky where the faintest of orange lights are glimmering from the far-away castle. "We'd better get our robes on." I sit up, shifting Bonnefoi and her cage to the side and grabbing my trunk from the wide luggage rack as Goyle also reaches up for his. The trunks clatter, and an unmistakable noise of human pain issues from the overhead rack. I freeze, looking up with my grey eyes narrowed.

Something's not right. First the floating white trainer, and then this... It's Potter! I just know that nosy little berk is spying on me! Taking a deep, calming breath, I unlock my trunk and extract my neatly folded school robes and the new traveling cloak my mother bought for me at Twilfitt and Tatting's. I pull them over my head, locking my trunk back up as the locomotive begins to slow to a halt. Within moments, Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle have already left, but Pansy waits for me at the door to our compartment with her olive-skinned hand outstretched.

"You go on, I just want to check something." I say cheerfully, waiting until she has completely disappeared into the teeming sea of chattering and laughing students who are surging down and hall and out into the cold Scotland night air. Ha! Potter is about to get what he deserves... and I'm going to be the one to give it to him! With a small triumphant smile I let the blinds of the compartment down before stooping down and reopening my trunk, as decoy. I'll bet anything that Potter's just straining to see what I've got inside; probably hoping he'll catch a glimpse of something that could get me thrown out of school. My fingers tighten surreptitiously around my wand, my muscles tense and waiting. The seconds tick by. Three... two... one...

" _Petrificus Totalus!"_ I yell, whipping my wand into the air and aiming it at the luggage rack.

With an almighty crash, Potter comes tumbling out of thin air and lands on his back with his precious little Invisibility Cloak underneath him. He looks so _stupid_ right now, with his legs forced up and his glasses knocked askew. I wish the Hogwarts teachers could see their wonderful _Chosen One_ like this.

"I thought so." I say victoriously, my heart racing. "I heard Goyle's trunk hit you. And I thought I saw something white flash through the air after Zabini came back." I glance towards Potter's white trainers, feeling particularly clever. I, Draco Malfoy, just took Harry Potter down; the disgraced werewolf has defeated the so-called "Chosen One". "That was you blocking the door when Zabini came back in, I suppose?"

I stare down into his green eyes with contempt. I could do whatever I liked to him right now, and no one would ever know. The Killing Curse? No... I wouldn't want to leave the body behind. Crucio? I suppose I could... Something in side of me, however, yearns for something more physical, more _personal_. "You didn't hear anything I care about, Potter. But while I've got you here..." I raise my foot, bringing it down hard on Potter's smug little face. His nose seems to crumple at my touch, and the sound of the snapping bones is satisfying. "That's from my father." I say coldly, almost smiling down at him as the blood trickles down his chin. "Now, let's see..."

Stooping down, I tug the Cloak from beneath his frozen form and toss it neatly over him, smirking as he vanishes from sight. "I don't reckon they'll find you till the train's back in London. See you around, Potter... or not." With a quiet sense of combined pride and dignity, I snatch up Bonnefoi and my trunk and exit the compartment, just not before stepping hard on the place I know his fingers must by lying.

* * *

A faint wind stirs my hair as I descend onto the misty Hogsmeade station, mixing with the babbling crowd of tired but excited students. A half-formulated plan is beginning to stir murkily in my mind as I look over the quaint little shops, all of which seem to have more than doubled their security. If Hogsmeade is well protected, than it'll be nothing compared to Hogwarts. I'm sure that the school will be locked up tighter than a drum, it'll probably even be impossible to get mail orders in without them being checked. Any package coming from a shop like Borgin and Burkes will doubtlessly be confiscated... which is trouble for me, since I'm expecting shipments of repair manuals and supplies to aid me in my task with the Hogwarts Vanishing Cabinet.

A package coming from Hogsmeade, however, might not attract so much negative attention. I could ask Borgin to send all of my orders straight to the town... but then there's the problem of how I'm going to collect them. Students are only allowed off of school grounds once every few months, and I most likely wont be able to go that long without supplies.

I'll need an accomplice.

It all makes perfect sense now, as I place my trunk and owl onto a luggage trolley which will be magicked to the school later- probably by House Elves. Even Auntie Bellatrix admitted that I have skills in certain areas, Occlumency and the Imperius Curse being the chief of them. With my most casual expression, I begin to peer around, looking into the windows of shops lining the street nearby and fingering my wand. Gambol and Japes is closed, the Hogsmeade Library is as well. The one storefront that seems to be doing more business this late hour than any of the others is the one right across from the station: The Three Broomsticks. It's windows glow golden, and the faint sound of drunken singing issues through the chilly night air. The silhouette of the rather well-endowed barmaid flits from table to table, before opening the front door and stepping out under the lantern-light in full relief. A bell tinkles as Madam Rosmerta gently closes her the door, shifting a sack of what is most likely rubbish over her shoulder. I stare almost stupidly as she moves past the shop window and towards the narrow alley-way beside the bar where the rubbish bins are kept.

Things could not be falling into place more flawlessly.

I shoulder through the crowd noisy teenagers who are already beginning to disperse in the direction of the horseless carriages that will take us up to the school. "Madam Rosmeta!" I call, lifting my hand slightly in salutation as I hurry across the cobbled street and to her side. "Ma'am, would you like help with that?" I smile politely, taking the heavy rubbish bag from her with all the finesse of a gentleman.

She rocks back slightly on her tall amethyst-purple high-heels, squinting at me in the half light. "Thank you, but should you be with the other Hogwarts-"

" _Imperius_." I say quietly, pointing my wand at her from under the sleeve of my robe. That wonderful, tingly sense of utter control spreads over me, coursing from my brain through the tips of my right fingers. The barmaid's eyes go glassy for a split second before she straightens smartly up and takes the bag of rubbish back. I direct her mentally, feeding my commands into her very soul.

 _Go back into your bar and continue as normal. I will be in contact. Not a word to anyone._

Oh, sweet victory. I almost succumb to the temptation of punching the air as I hustle back across the near-frozen road and towards the carriages where my fellow Slytherins are waiting. I'll have a good story to entertain them with tonight- one that involves noses. Behind me, the Hogwarts Express roars to life, its wheels churning on its track as it begins the London-bound journey. Potter'll be long gone by the time anyone even notices his absence.

* * *

"I can't believe that stinking Potter got free." I grumble irritably, folding my arms as Pansy leans in to peck my cheek.

The Slytherin common room is alive with talk and laughter, as it's traditional to have a bit of a party to celebrate the first night back at Hogwarts. Green light floods Blaise, Pansy, Vincent, Theo, Gregory, Tracy, and I as we relax on the large leather couches and armchairs filling the long, low room.

"Don't be grump now," Pansy chides playfully, "You should be proud! Think of it- _you_ were the cause of Potter's total embarrassment tonight, plus, it's a wicked story."

"Yeah, well you know what _I_ can't believe?" Crabbe complains, his expression similarly pained. "I can't believe that that bleeding caretaker stole my shrunken head! It was a gift from my dad- he had no right to take it! How on earth is _that_ considered Dark? It had a name and everything..." He continues plaintively while we all roll our eyes. " _Bernie_. I miss it already."

"You should have known better than to bring anything of that sort into the grounds at a time like this." Tracy Davis says quietly, her brown furrowed under her long pink and blonde dreadlocks. "It was a bit stupid, honestly. I mean, I disposed of _my_ skull collection ages ago- before the Ministry even started the first of the summer raids."

"Well, your hair is a bit stupid, honestly." Crabbe parrots in a high-pitched, mocking voice.

Tracy's eyes widen, and I begin to introduce a new topic quickly, before a massive Slytherin meltdown can ensue. "So Pansy, you said that Belby from Ravenclaw was a prat. Why do you think he got invited to Slughorn's party, then? I mean, does he know anybody famous or something?"

The plump girl shrugs, examining her nails under the glowing lake-colored light. "Meh. I don't reckon he does. You know, we dated when I was in my second year... nothing serious, of course, but he seemed to really like me. I dumped him pretty quick though; like I said, he's a prat." She explains in a bored tone, smoothing out her skirt without even glancing towards me.

"I know why he was invited, though I doubt he will be a second time," Blaise interrupts haughtily. "His uncle invented the Wolfsbane Potion."

"Y- you're kidding?" My voice trembles despite myself. If Belby knows how to make the Potion, I could be saved! There's no way I'm going to Snape for the recipe... but another student? Perhaps.

"Yes. I'm not fond of _kidding_ _,_ as you very well know." The tall dark boy yawns widely. "Well, I'm off to bed. Goodnight."

And with a sour expression, he stalks off towards the boys dormitories. I, however, decide to remain for the spirited festivities. Things are going well- so much better than I ever could have _dreamed_.

* * *

 _A/N: I'm sorry about the late update and crummy chapter! I'm currently sick, enjoying a Twenty One Pilots binge, and falling into fevered sleeps at random intervals. This is the patchy result!_


	7. Healing

7\. Healing

* * *

 _A/N: Some of the events and/or dialogue is very similar to that of the HBP chapter 9: The Half-Blood Prince. I don't own any recognizable characters, quotes, or locations- those rights belong to JK Rowling._

* * *

I set down my fork, watching as Severus Snape bends over Pansy Parkinson's blank timetable and begins to advise her in a low voice. I stare down at my pancakes, wondering what I'll do when Snape visits me next. I've never really thought about what I want to be when I grow up- especially now that the Dark Lord's back, I'm not sure there's much use making plans. Snape taps Pansy's chart and gives her a small word of parting. I pull my left sleeve down a bit more as he approaches my chair, praying that there is nothing about my condition that he'll be able to detect. All I really have to say is, thank Merlin for dittany, because without it, I'd be in _excruciating_ pain. Or maybe I should thank the Healers who made it. I'd almost like to be able to help people like that- take away pain somehow... though I have no idea how.

"Let's see, Mr. Malfoy," Professor Snape drawls, looking over a sheet of parchment in his hands. "Seven 'Outstandings' and three 'Exceeds Expectations'... quite good. You're cleared to enter Charms with an 'E', but I'm afraid you'll have needed an 'O' for Astronomy and Arithmancy. What did we settle on for you goals in careers advice?" I don't answer, knowing that our newly appointed Defense Against Dark Arts teacher is most likely presenting a rhetorical question. "Ah... yes." He continues slowly, "You told me that you didn't think that a career would be anything that you had to bother about, owing to your impressive inheritance, but that you'd put yourself down for whatever classes you felt like when the time came. Still care to hold by that?"

I flush a bit, almost embarrassed. "Sir... I'm sorry Professor... You see, I'd actually like to try for an actual job. I've been thinking about it, and I think that I qualify for all the classes required for Healer training, right?" My own words surprise me. I hardly think that the Dark Lord would be pleased with this choice, but then again, does _everything_ I do have to be approved by him?

Professor Snape gives me a very long, evaluating look that frightens me somewhat. With an almost instinctive sense of panic, I put my Occlumency shields up. This precaution turns out to me quite unnecessary, as Snape breaks the gaze in a matter of seconds, staring down at the timetable before me. "You do know that five classes are required for that field?"

"Yes." I say firmly. A workload has never deterred me- in fact, I've always found a full schedule to be bracing.

"And you're quite sure that you have _time_ for all of that?" He says significantly.

"Yes." I repeat. I'm not sure what he thinks he's playing at, but if he's going to start trying to control my life... well, I won't stand for it.

"Very well. You're cleared for Herbology, Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, and Charms. You're free to go." He touches his wand to my timetable, and the blank parchment is suddenly covered in a complete schedule. I have the first hour off (which is fine with me), then Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Snape himself.

"Thank you, sir-" I begin, but he's already glided off to confront Tracy Davis.

Millicent Bulstrode leans forward, addressing Pansy, who is looking quite pleased with herself. "What did he put you down for, Parkinson?"

The brunette flourishes her timetable with a smirk. "Arithmancy- which I've got ten minutes to get to- Defense Against the Dark Arts, History of Magic, and Astronomy. History of Magic and Defense are the only classes that I _really_ need, since I'll be taking my law classes after graduation. I'm trying to be a Criminal Defense Lawyer for the Ministry." She adds with a smug nod.

"No Potions?" I ask rather distractedly, glancing towards her.

"Nope. I only got an 'Acceptable'- though that's alright with me, I'd hardly even use the information anyway." She says cheerfully, shoving her plate away and sliding her pink headband back a bit in her short hair. "I'll see you in Defense class then, Draco." She presses her full lips to my cheek for a fleeting moment before shouldering her book bag and racing off down the hall.

Millicent sighs and begins to pick at her porridge with a woeful expression. "Pansy really likes you, just so you know, Draco." She mumbles.

I blink, somewhat surprised. Of course she likes me- we're somewhat of an item- but we're clearly not _serious_ , or anything. "Okay?" What was supposed to be affirmation comes out rather like a question, and Millie gives another tragic sigh.

"Oh... I was just thinking about how pretty she is. That's all." I narrow my eyes skeptically as she stands, her mousy hair swinging around her thick shoulders. "I didn't qualify for Potions either... I hardly even scraped up a 'P'." She adds glumly, before stalking off towards the dungeons.

Girls sure are _odd_.

* * *

I lean against the wall outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Students are already beginning to queue up, though more are still drifting in from Divination and Arithmancy. My free hour was spent very productively in the sixth year Slytherin boys' dormitory reading my books on Vanishing Cabinets. I already have a fairly good idea of what I'm going to have to do to fix the Hogwarts Cabinet, my main problem is now _finding_ it. The good news, however, is that Professor Snape was the teacher who managed to free Graham Montague from the toilet last year, and therefore was probably involved in removing the bureau from the second corridor to a new hiding place. I am, after all, his _favorite_ student; I'm sure he'll give me a few helpful clues if I approach the topic right.

Suddenly, the classroom door swings open and Professor Snape emerges, looking singularly pleased. "Inside." He says softly, and everyone shuts up instantly, hurrying into the chilly room and taking seats. From my desk in the back row, I glance around at the walls, admiring the new decorations. Picture after educational picture line the walls, illustrating the effects of certain Dark powers in magnificent detail. Severus Snape will most certainly be a huge improvement on the other worthless defense teachers that we've had so far.

Pansy waves surreptitiously at me from across the room, and I shoot her a tiny nod before Professor Snape begins to speak. "I have not asked you to take out your books. I wish to speak to you and I want your fullest attention." I gaze at him in rapt attention.

Snape is a Death Eater- someone who will treat the Dark Arts with the fullest respect and attention of which they are so deeply deserving. There won't be any silly stories, pointless creatures, or dull lessons this year. And maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to pick up on some helpful pointers that will bring me to greater favor within the circle. With my hands folded on my lap, I listen as carefully as possible.

* * *

"Professor Snape, sir, I was wondering if I could ask you a brief question?"

I finish packing my books away (a task which intentionally took an inordinate amount of time), and face my teacher with a look of greatest respect.

He closes the classroom door behind the last departing student and turns to look at me. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"

"I was wondering, sir, about Vanishing Cabinets." Snape narrows his eyes slightly, but I continue. "You see, I was looking through my- uh, _Charms_ textbook, and I saw a chapter on certain enchantments. There was a footnote about their application to Vanishing Cabinets, and I couldn't help but remember that there was a Cabinet here at Hogwarts." I lie, mentally arranging my Occlumency defense, just in case Professor Snape should try to probe into my mind. "So this morning, while I was on break, I went down to the second corridor where I thought it was, but didn't see it there. I knew that I could have asked Professor Flitwick... but I've honestly got more respect for _you_ , sir." As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize that I've probably overdone it.

Snape frowns, his long black hair shadowing his sallow face. "Thank you for that, Draco, but I'm afraid that it's none of your business where that Cabinet has been placed. Now go, or you'll be late for your next classes." He says slowly, then turns back to his desk and begins to page through a stack of student files.

I cannot believe that that didn't work! _How_? Professor Snape has always been singularly open with me, and seems to trust me rather more than any of the other students. Could he know why I want the Cabinet? Could he be trying to hamper my mission- trying to do it himself and reap all the glory? I frown in frustration and suspicion, shoulder my bag, and stride from the classroom in high dudgeon.

* * *

I sigh amongst the heavy clouds of fumes floating through the dungeon; some, sweet smelling (the one old Sluggy called Amortentia is _amazing_ : a perfect mixture of my mother's perfume, the cold wind that blows in my face as I ride my broom, the musty library, a brand new book, and the aroma of dinner in the Great Hall...), others acrid. Our new Potions Master drones on, bolstering that Mudblood Gryffindor Granger up- as if she was anything special!

I stare down at my book, my vision practically blurred by boredom. Next to me, Theo Nott is making his quill tap dance across the desk.

"- be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?" Slughorn is asking Granger, a rather greedy glint in his droopy eyes.

"No, I don't think so, sir. I'm Muggle-born, you see." She says quietly.

I snicker, leaning over to Nott and hissing into his ear. "Doesn't she mean _'Mudblood'_? Just wait, Sluggy'll straighten her out in a trice." He laughs softly with me, and we cast knowing glances towards our teacher. That Mudblood just thinks that she's queen of the world, always earning herself points for being "clever" and "logical" and stuff, when all she really does is recite verbatim from her spellbooks. Even an idiot like the Weasel could do that, if he wanted to!

"Oho! ' _One of my best friends is Muggle-born and she's the best in our year!_ ' I'm assuming this is the very friend of whom you spoke, Harry?"

My mouth drops open just the slightest. What the- he's actually _pleased_ that she's a dirty-blood?

"Yes, sir." Of course Potter would be the star of the class- of course Slughorn would want to focus on the _Boy-Who-Lived_. Pathetic.

"Well, well, take twenty well-earned points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger." Sluggy chuckles.

I can't believe that! That is _totally_ unfair- he's only giving her those points because she's Potter's crony! _Twenty points_? Where's his loyalty to his own house?

But Slughorn continues, gesturing again to the sweet-smelling cauldron in front of the Gryffindors. "Amortentia doesn't really create _love_ , of course. It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love. No, this will simply cause a powerful infatuation or obsession. It is probably the most dangerous and powerful potion in this room."

I exchange a look with Theo. I almost wish that Snape was back as a teacher- you wouldn't catch him labeling a simple _love potion_ as the most powerful in the room! Compared to Veritas Serum- a _truth_ potion? What kind of waffle is this? An infatuation can be _annoying,_ sure, but actually _dangerous_? I mean, love potions are handy if you want to get a date, but really not that special.

"Oh yes," Slughorn nods at us with an entirely serious expression on his face. "When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love..." He walks slowly around to his desk as a chubby Hufflepuff (who is cozying up with the Gryffindors, of course) asks about the tiny cauldron of potion standing there. Brilliant drops of what seems to be molten gold are splashing up into the air, landing neatly back into their container without so much as a drip out of place. "Oho, yes. That. Well, _that_ one, ladies and gentlemen, is a most curious little potion called Felix Felicis."

I stare at the cauldron in disbelief. Miss Mudblood might have gotten an "Outstanding" in Potions, but so did I. I'm just as skilled as she is (not that Slughorn takes notice of that), and it's no trouble to identify exactly the use of the golden potion. "

"I take it that you know what Felix Felicis does, Miss Granger?" Slughorn is saying, and the brown-haired girl begins to bounce excitedly on her seat.

"It's liquid luck. It makes you lucky!" She squeaks. As if by instinct, we all straighten to attention. I can't say that Professor Slughorn is a very good teacher, but anything involving a potion this rare and precious is worthy of my deepest attention. I mean, what would I do to get my hands on something like that?

"Quite right, take another ten points for Gryffindor." I purse my lips in annoyance. Can't we just get get on with the lesson? "Yes, it's a funny little potion, Felix Felicis," Slughorn continues. "Desperately tricky to make, and disastrous to get wrong. However, if brewed correctly, as this has been you will find that all your endeavors tend to succeed... at least until the effects wear off."

The entire world seems to fade away, replaced by one glorious, glowing thought. If I could- I don't know- _steal_ that potion somehow... Everything would be perfect! I could use it to get the location of the Vanishing Cabinet out of Snape! Or better yet, simply down it and go finish old Dumbles off just like _that_! I wouldn't even have to worry about fixing the Cabinet to get the Death Eaters into the school- I could just do everything myself!

"-And that," Slughorn is saying, "is what I shall be offering as a prize in this lesson."

The room goes silent. I can't believe it- everything is falling into place. Time to put that "O" to use; I'm going to win myself a lucky day!

"One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis." Sluggy digs a small crystal vial from his pocket, showing it to the class. "Enough for twelve hours' luck. From dawn to dusk, you will be lucky in everything you attempt." He continues to drone on about bans, but I don't bother with any of that. As if I would try to use the potion for Quidditch when I have so much more important things to get done! "So, how are you to win my fabulous prize? Well, by turning to page ten of _Advanced Potion-Making_. We have a little over an hour left to us, which should be time for you to make a decent attempt at the Draught of Living Death. I know it is more complex than anything you have attempted before, and I do not expect a perfect potion from anybody. The person who does best, however, will win little Felix here. Off you go!"

I grab my cauldron and begin setting up my scale in perfect, blissful silence. My only _real_ competition in the room is Granger, and I figure that she shouldn't be _to_ tough to beat. Besides, us Slytherins thrive off of competition. I page through _Advanced Potion-Making_ at top speed, running my finger over the list of ingredients when I reach the recipe. Valerian roots... Sopophorous Bean... Wormwood... root of Asphodel... sloth brain... Grinning rather madly, I tuck the book under one elbow and race to the shelves of ingredients, filling my arms with the required materials and sprinting back to my table to begin chopping my Valerian roots.

Everyone seems to be progressing at a different way, and I'm definitely ahead. My potion, like Granger's, is silky smooth, and the dark shade described as perfect for the halfway stage. Breathing copious amounts of blueish smoke that are beginning to make my nose itch, I start trying to cut my Sopophorous Bean- a difficult task. It keeps skidding all over the table, and the knife doesn't seem to be making any imprint in the least. Huffing in frustration, I pin it down with one hand while violently stabbing down at it with my knife. At the price of cutting my thumb rather badly, I finally manage to pierce a small hole in the shriveled husk, from which a tiny stream of juice trickles. I shake it over the cauldron until the pitiful helping of liquid seems to have drained completely from the bean.

But what's wrong? I've followed all of the instructions to a T, but the liquid is still a dark current color, instead of the required light lilac. I could be wrong... but last time I checked, the two shades are about a mile apart.

Sweating profusely, I begin stirring the mixture, my teeth gritted at the realization that the potion just isn't changing color! Around and around I stir, counter-clockwise just like the book says, but nothing happens.

"And time's... up!" Slughorn roars. "Stop stirring, please!"

I chew my lip as he begins to inspect everyone's work, giving Nott's pitch black mixture a withering glance, and only allowing mine a tiny nod, which I assume means that it's at least passable. We stand in silence until he reaches Potter at the Gryffindor table. "The clear winner! Excellent, excellent, Harry! Good Lord, it's clear you've inherited your mother's talent, she was a dab hand at Potions, Lily was! Here you are, then, here you are- one bottle of Felix Felicis, as promised, and use it well!"

I freeze, the heat rising fast to my cheeks. How? Just- _how?_ After Potter's pathetic display of Potion screw-ups last year, I would have never thought this possible! Either Remedial Potions with Professor Snape worked wonders... or Slughorn is just being biased. And I would bet my broomstick I know which of the two it is.

What am I going to do now? All my hopes for an easy completion of my mission crumble in a cloud of Fuming, I clean up my work space, trying to ignore Potter's irritating voice issuing from across the dungeons.

"Got lucky, I suppose."

The _heck_ he did.

* * *

 _A/N: I know this is a short chapter- the next one will be longer and much more interesting. I don't want to say to much, but a certain blonde nutcase with big silver eyes will be staring much more prominently from here on out! If you have a spare moment, please consider leaving a review. Your encouragement and criticisms are what keep me going._


	8. Lovegood

8\. Lovegood

* * *

 _A/N: Disclaimer- I don't own Harry Potter. All recognizable characters, dialogue, locations, or events belong to none other than the great and all-powerful queen, JK Rowling. This story is super OOC, as well as AU and cannon-divergent. Also, I might not be updating again for a few weeks, I've been swamped and have a much-needed vacation coming up._

* * *

A whole stinking week of hectic classes, biased teachers, aching bones, and way to little sleep. That's what I've had to endure.

But I'm still alive and kicking, despite the fact that I have found next to nothing out about either the Vanishing Cabinet or how to control my lycanthropy. Powdered silver and dittany is enough to keep my wounds sealed during waning and waxing moon, but once it reaches its entirety, I'll _have_ to find some way to restrain myself. I wonder what Remus Lupin did, if he was already infected by the time he started school. I'll bet he had Wolfsbane Potion... something which I can't ask for because I don't dare to disclose my secret.

That's where Marcus Belby comes in. If his uncle invented the potion, then perhaps he'll know how to make it.

It's been a task trying to track him down, especially since I haven't (much to my chagrin) received any invites to the Slug Club, and Blaise says that Belby hasn't been asked back either. Fortunately, however, I'm on a free period right now, which gives me perfect opportunity to lurk outside the stairway leading to Ravenclaw tower and wait for him to make an appearance. There's quite a chance that he won't show- any number of things could detain him from visiting his common room between classes- but I'm hoping for a lucky coincidence.

Pressing my back against the stone wall and trying to look nonchalant, I glance up the stairs, straining for the sound of footsteps. Minutes tick by before a single Ravenclaw appears, but it's just a chubby first year boy, followed shortly after by a knot of giggling third year girls, all of whom seem to move in a perfectly synchronized pack. Then, finally, a nervous-looking seventh year.

"Are you Marcus Belby?" I ask, taking him off guard. He looks wildly around for a moment before fixing his eyes on me and beginning to breathe loudly through his nose.

"Y- yes. Yes, I am. Can I help you with something?" He says in a deeply hesitant tone.

I nod, trying to force out a smile. "A friend of mine, Blaise Zabini, said that you were a favorite of Professor Slughorn's," At this untruth Belby seems to swell, a sure sign of my success. "He told me that your uncle invented the Wolfsbane Potion... I- I need some for a Potions project and I thought, since Slughorn was so _impressed_ by you, perhaps you could tell me how to make it?" The air filling the Ravenclaw's chest seems to filter slowly out as I speak, until I'm once again facing a nervous scrawny boy with no real importance.

"I- I wish that I could... Slughorn and all... but my dad had a falling-out with my uncle... Slughorn wasn't to pleased when I told him on the train..."

" _What_?" I snap. Why couldn't Zabini have simply told me this? So much trouble could have been saved!

"I don't know anything about the Wolfsbane Potion, and the way things are between the two of them, I probably never will." Belby says quickly, then falters. "Wait... you're friends with that Zabini fellow? Are you a Slytherin?" He demands suddenly, staring at me with a gleam of far-to-eager hope in his eyes.

"Yes..." I say slowly, wondering where he could be going with this.

"Then you _must_ know Pansy Parkinson? Curvy... spirited... _really_ pretty-"

"Yeah, I know her." I say shortly, realizing that this conversation is going nowhere fast, and desiring to end it.

"Has- has she... by any chance... _mentioned_ me?" His gaze is almost pleading. How _pathetic_.

"Yeah, she said that you were a prat." I turn from him, beginning to stride purposefully off down the hall. Once again, I'm coming across a dead end.

"Oh. Oh yeah, that's what she said when she dumped me... four years ago. _Vivacious_." Belby's despondent tones ring after me down the hall as I stalk off towards Charms class.

* * *

"Oh, my _dear_!"

I freeze, jerking around to stare over my shoulder at the odd looking witch emerging from the teachers' lounge with a bottle of half-empty cooking sherry in her hand.

I vaguely recognize her as Sybill Trelawney, Hogwarts' pathetic excuse for a Divination teacher- not that _I've_ taken her class, or even spoken to her before. "Is there anything I can do for you, _Professor_?" I add with just the tiniest splash of sarcastic disdain. I would never insult a teacher... to their face. One of the great rules of the noble House of Slytherin is (in a nutshell) "feel free to break as many rules as you'd like, as long as there is no possible chance of being caught."

"No, no..." She lifts the bottle of spirits up to her enormously magnified eyes, staring into its amber depths through her thick glasses lenses. "It should be _I_ asking _you_ if I can be of assistance. You see, my dear boy, you have a very Dark aura." Her tone trembles dramatically, and she turns to face me, her breath coming in hot bursts reeking of alcohol.

"I know, I've been thinking of going to Madam Pomfrey to get that checked on." I say coldly, detaching her hands from my cloak collar with as much respect as I can muster.

Trelawney begins to laugh very loudly and very drunkenly. "The Inner Eye has been focusing on you a lot of late, dear. You've got a _very_ Dark aura... one positively _stinking_ of silver and dittany."

I recoil, gazing at her in utmost horror. As if of instinct, I lift my arm to my face and inhale through my nose, straining to scent something- _anything_ at all. But I don't smell any different than normal; the odor of freshly laundered clothes and copious helpings of shoe polish, plus the faintly sweet aroma of my green-tea flavored shampoo and soaps. Now that I think about it... dittany doesn't even have a distinct smell. The minty extract that I slaver on my cuts and bites gives off a rather metallic bouquet of herbs, but nothing terribly noticeable. "Shove off, old woman." I growl, deciding that this bat must be simply guessing and is most likely too inebriated to even know what she's saying. Still... _silver and dittany_.

I shift my satchel of recently acquired Charms homework on my shoulder and double my pace back towards the dungeons.

* * *

"Hey, Pansy? Can I borrow a quill?"

Pansy Parkinson looks up from her Arithmancy book to flash me one of her rare (and rather sappy) smiles. She digs through her pencil case for a moment before tossing me an extravagantly pink plumed quill. "Don't break the tip off." She mutters, flipping over on her stomach and diving back into the text book.

I nod my thanks, dipping the fluffy quill into my silver ink-pot and unfurling my parchment roll. A two foot essay for Transfiguration would normally be no problem for me, but with the full moon coming up in a fortnight, I've been horribly stressed. "Theo?" I glance up at my friend, who is also slaving away at McGonagall's assignment. "Did you understand what this last lesson was about? I mean, it was easy for me, of course, but if _you_ need help..."

"You're not copying my answers." Theodore Nott says shortly, hitching his floor-grazing roll of parchment out of my sight.

"Anyone?" I plead desperately. "Tracy, what about-"

"I'm not in Transfiguration this year, as you very well know. You never used to need help like this, Draco. _Pathetic._ And if you're trying to scrape up any tips for Herbology- oh my word. Is that a _Fwooper quill_?" The blonde's voice is suddenly accusatory, and she straightens up in her black leather arm chair.

I shrug, tapping the quill absent-mindedly on the table as I search through my memories of the last Transfiguration lesson. "I don't know. Maybe. I've only borrowed it from Pansy, you can ask her-" But Pansy, probably sensing the immanent approach of a Tracy Davis hurricane, has already left the common room.

Tracy snorts, rising from her seat and turning about to show me her robes from the rear. A brightly colored needle-point sampler reading "Fwoopers Have Feelings Too" has been stitched to the back of her voluminous black cloak.

"You're kidding." I say blandly, returning to my parchment with eyebrows raised in mild disgust. Tracy is always going off on fits about Magical Creature care, or proper respect for certain "endangered" fungi. We're used to her by now, but none of us Slytherins can pretend to support her crazy campaigns.

"No, I'm not. I doubt any of you know that Fwoopers are actually highly intelligent birds, whose self-confidences are severely damaged by the harvesting of their feathers." Her voice becomes shriller as she addresses the entire common room.

"My mum has one of those as a pet! It's lime green, and all my quills are from its tail." A first year boy pipes up- evidently the wrong thing to say, as a furious pink flush rises to the blonde's cheeks.

"How can you _possibly_ live with yourself, knowing that you've wreaked emotional damage upon a rare and beautiful creature?" She snarls, the dried flowers adorning her dreadlocks beginning to shiver most ominously.

"Give it a rest, Davis." Theo takes his reading glasses off with a resigned look, slipping them into his pajamas pocket and rolling up his essay.

"You're one to speak, Nott. I've seen how you treat that Kneazle of yours- it's a wonder that poor creature is alive. Fwoopers, however, are much more fragile, and just because they have pretty, bright plumage doesn't mean-"

"Is that why you dyed your hair then, Davis? To look like a Fwooper?" Theo interrupts rather snappishly, then bolts from the common room to the safety of his dorm with his homework tucked under his arm.

Fuming amidst the gales of laughter from the other Slytherins, Tracy stomps up to her own bedroom, leaving a trail of papery flowers behind her.

Good Merlin. I roll my eyes, tucking my own report into my book-bag with a sigh. _These_ are the only people I have as confidants. What a cheerful prospect.

* * *

It _hurts_.

There's still an entire bleeding week till the next full moon, but the pain seems have decided to torture me with an early onset. I lean against the cold stone wall to catch my breath for a moment, counting off the days on my fingers. One... two... three... all the way up to seven; that was the first week of school. Another seven long, miserably tiring days marks the second week... and now, here I am, the first day of my third week back at Hogwarts, and I haven't made a single bit of progress with either my mission, or figuring out how to control my lycanthropy. The thought of the workload ahead hurts almost as much as the fire in my arm. So much, in fact, that I feel tears beginning to prickle in my eyes.

Malfoys do not cry (with the exception of my mother- but that's only a very recently acquired habit), so I'm faced with a difficult choice. Soldier on to the Slytherin common room to spend my moment of break catching up with the homework that I'm failing to complete for Transfiguration, or rush into the nearest boys' room to- er- _wipe_ my eyes.

After a momentary decisions-making delay, I dash down the hall and through the small white-washed door of the nearest male lavatory. The tears seem to gone back to their rightful places behind my eyes, but I don't leave. Something about the refreshing quiet of this stone-tiled room is refreshing to me. Surprising, I suppose, as most sane people would not consider a bathroom to be _refreshing_.

"Merlin..." I say aloud, listening intently as my voice echoes around the room. "If only life wasn't so-"

But I'm unable to finish remonstrating on exactly how different life would be, as at that very moment the door bangs open. I turn quickly back to the mirror and sink, pretending to wash my hands and fully expecting a fellow male student to come prancing in. And someone _does_ come prancing in... but it's not a boy. It's a _girl_.

And what's more, a girl that I recognize: the column-built blonde with a dreamy voice. The absolutely, no-question-about-it, completely-and-totally gaga, off-her-rocker _weirdo_.

I lift my head, watching her in the mirror's reflection as she closes the door behind her and looks almost wildly around. Her wide eyes come to rest on my back, and I reluctantly turn round.

"This is a _boys'_ bathroom." I say icily.

Much to my annoyance and chagrin, she seems undeterred. "Oh, is it? Well, it still makes for a very good hiding place, don't you think?" I simply don't know how to respond, so I stare at her in blank disbelief. "I haven't come in here often, but sometimes when they're chasing me, like just now..." She continues happily, the thick knot of dirty-blonde hair on the top of her head bobbing slightly. "Oh, you've been crying."

I purse my lips in annoyed embarrassment. "No," I lie, "I haven't. I'm a boy, and boys don't cry. Now you should really leave-"

"Boys cry. Daddy cries sometimes, when he misses Mummy, and he's ever so much older than you are." The girl says in obvious tones. "Come on, you're upset. Will you tell me what's wrong? You can't get me to leave, I've got to stay here anyway, until the boys who were chasing me go away."

"I-" I open my mouth to tell her to shove off and mind her own business, but close it again to think. "What happened to your mother?" I almost can't believe myself; I wasn't intending to ask anything of the sort... the words just sort of _slipped out._

"Oh, she died. She liked to experiment with different spells and stuff, and one day she made a mistake." The blonde's voice carries the faintest hint of sadness, which is quickly replaced by the usual look of dreamy removal.

"Sorry." I wipe my eyes quickly and grab a paper towel from the casket by the sink, handing it to the girl. She's not even crying, but it seems like the best way to illustrate my remorse for her situation. I can honestly say that I _do_ pity her. Perhaps last year, or any of the years before, I would not have; but now I know what it's like to lose a parent.

A short silence punctuates the rather awkward conversation, and the grey eyed girl begins to nibble on the edge of the paper towel.

"But you still haven't told me why _you're_ crying." She remarks after a moment, and I bow my head in reluctant submission.

"I'm stressed, is all. You know, a lot of stuff to get done... and I don't feel too well..." I mumble vaguely, hoping that she won't be able to read behind the lines.

"You mean you're ill?"

"Yeah, of sorts." I sigh, striding across the tiled floor and resting my hand on the bathroom door to signal the end of our short encounter.

"That's too bad. Where are you going?" She looks at me, a tiny crease of what might be worry appearing between her silver eyes.

"I need to get back to my classes. You shouldn't stick around, either; you might get in trouble for being in the boys' loo."

"But there're people waiting out there for me." She says quietly, "I can't go out just yet."

I open the door just a bit, peering out into the empty corridor beyond. "There's no one out there; you're fine." I say shortly, stepping from the bathroom and holding the door open for her to exit as well. Then, spying her rather fearful look, I soften the tiniest bit and give her a small smile. "I'm Malfoy, by the way. Draco Malfoy."

The younger girl's silver eyes widen slightly as she straightens up. "Really? That's nice. It must be terribly convenient having the same first and last name... but why did your parents stick 'Draco' in the middle? It could have been 'Malfoy Malfoy Malfoy', and then no body would forget who you are!"

"Please tell me that you're joking." I roll my eyes, flapping my hand to direct her from the bathroom.

"I was." She slips under my arm, glances left and right, then begins to hurry off down the hall towards the Ravenclaw tower. "I'm Lovegood, by the way," She calls over her shoulder, without looking back. "Luna Lovegood."

* * *

 _A/N: Hello everybody! Random rant: I can't stand how the Golden Trio is always disdaining Professor Trelawney! Sure, I'll openly admit that she's completely gaga, but still- almost half of the predictions that she makes are actually correct. For instance, the people of Hogwarts really should have paid more attention to her doomsday warnings in the Half-Blood Prince, especially when it came to calamity on the "lightening-struck tower". And in the Goblet of Fire, when she asks Harry if he was born in mid-winter, I believe that she was really sensing the part of Voldemort's soul inside of him, for Tom Riddle Jr._ was _born on the 31st of December. So there. (And now my rant is done!)_

 _On a different note, here's a shout-out of thanks to **Maya Poltergeist** for having both an awesome username and leaving really encouraging reviews for this story. And a really big hug for **DemiS** for being amazing, leaving loads of terrific reviews, and taking the time to read my works! She's a very talented writer- go check out her Harry Potter fanfiction, **The Rose and the S** **corpion**. _


	9. Requirement

9\. Requirement

* * *

 _A/N: I'm back! Sorry about that long, long break. School is starting, so my updates might be a bit slower, but I'm excited to continue with this story._

 _Disclaimer- I don't own Harry Potter, and am making no money from this fic! Enjoy, and please consider leaving a review if you have a moment. Your feedback is what keeps me going!_

* * *

"Draco?" Pansy Parkinson peers blushingly around the doorway of the stairs leading to the girls' dormitory. "I'm going up to bed..." Her fingers rove over the collar of her fluffy pink dressing-gown, and she sends me a lustrous smile. "And I just wanted to say goodnight."

I set my Transfiguration homework down, eyeing the brunette with some suspicion. "Goodnight then." I say with some hesitance as she begins to walk towards me.

Settling down on the couch, awfully close to me, she leans forward. I'm overcome with a powerful wave of musky jasmine perfume. "Goodnight to you, too." She slides almost onto my lap, wrapping her arms around my shoulders in a way that she's never done before.

Feeling slightly overwhelmed, I decide to get it over with, and lean in to kiss her. Before our lips can meet, however, a sudden image floats into my mind. Luna Lovegood, tall and thin with huge grey eyes, and a tiny crease of fear and concern between her pale, rounded eyebrows.

Without really understanding why, I jerk my head back and gently pry Pansy from my lap. She falls dully back onto the couch, a weary expression on her pretty, plump face.

"Well, goodnight." She says after a while, so quietly her voice is almost a whisper. "Goodnight." And she slips back across the common room and up the shadowy stairs to her bedroom.

I blink down at my half-finished Transfiguration essay, wondering what on earth has just happened. Pansy and I have been off and on for years- we've even kissed, though only once before- yet I'm finding myself completely unprepared her sudden romantic advances. I should have known that sooner or later we'd either deepen things, or end them entirely; that would have probably saved me from a lot of unnecessary confusion.

And why on earth should I even be bothering about that Lovegood girl? Sure, she was alright- nice, perhaps- but absolutely nothing special. I don't even know her. And now that I think about it, she was most certainly in Dumbledore's Army last year; didn't she stand by the window why Professor Umbridge interrogated Potter?

Well, one thing's for certain: I won't be seeing her again. I mean, I can hardly associate with- let alone speak to- one of _Dumb-_ ledore's fanatic supporters. What would my father say? What would the _Dark Lord_ say? No- that certainly wouldn't do.

My homework lies forgotten as I pause to recall the events of last year; Dolores Umbridge, the Inquisitorial Squad, and those secret DA meetings that we managed to put an end to. It's actually a wonder that those miscreants managed to avoid discovery for so long- owing, most likely, to those coin contraptions of theirs. Handy, really. I wouldn't say "no" to a secretive means of communication like that- it would make contact with the Imperiused bar maid, Madam Rosmerta. I hope that my spell is strong enough to keep her in submission until I'm able to meet her and reinforce it- probably not until late October, or whenever our first Hogsmeade weekend is scheduled.

If only I could make coins like that of my own! Unfortunately, however, I haven't the faintest idea how the Mudblood Granger managed to create them, and I don't know anyone who would be at all willing to give me the required information.

Wait. Wait a moment! I do know someone who was in the DA, and who should be supremely easy to manipulate to my will. That Luna Lovegood.

* * *

I peek around the corner of the stone wall, waiting for the fifth year Divination classroom to let out. A quick interrogation of a few younger Slytherin boys was all it took to discover that a fifteen-year-old oddball with dirty-blonde hair is indeed attending the centaur Firenze's class in the room that the wretched Headmaster transformed into an indoor forest.

"Come on... come on now, hurry up..." I mutter through clenched teeth, hoping that the fifth years finish their class before my next one start.

Finally, after an excruciating wait, the classroom door swings open and a herd of giggling girls emerges, followed shortly after by some disgruntled-looking boys, and last of all, Lovegood. She's fiddling with her book-bag, her long hair falling over her face as she slowly drifts into the hall, the pack of students leaving her far behind.

"Lovegood! Oi, Lovegood!" I call, pinning on a luminous smile and waving cheerily at her.

The girl looks up, her bulging grey eyes widening and her mouth opening slightly in delight as she returns the greeting. "Malfoy Draco Malfoy! I thought that you wouldn't want to see me again. You know, a lot of the people who I talk to never come back. Of course, last year it was a bit better. The DAs were all lovely, almost friends."

"Of course I wanted to see you again! You're- er- wonderful." I lie, ignoring the faint squirm of mixed guilt and pity in the very pit of my stomach. Deciding to get to the bottom of things as fast as possible, I hurry on. "Oh, and speaking of the DAs, I was wondering about how those meetings work. I mean, how did you all know when it was time to convene?"

For the first time since my initial run-in with her, Lovegood looks completely and totally alert. "You were in the Inquisitorial Squad. You were close with that Umbridge- I don't think that I can tell you that." She stops walking, and tears her gaze from mine with a look of defiant force.

"I'm sorry- I was just trying to- I was hoping for a way to talk to you- communicate with you- while we're apart. Because... because you're so- um- _nice_." I invent wildly, suddenly second-guessing my assumption that Lovegood is a complete idiot.

"Really?" Lovegood looks back up at me, her face once again blank and her thin lips slightly parted. "You're nice too. We used coins," she adds happily, "and Hermione put some charms on them so when you pressed the numbers on one, the message would appear on all of the others. She's really clever; I like her."

"Do you know what charms she used?" I question eagerly, and Lovegood blinks her prominent eyes in thought.

"They were N.E.W.T. level..."

"That won't be a problem." I say quickly. I'm really just as smart as Granger- it's the teachers who are stupid to idolize her so much. I can easily manage Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test level spells!

"Well... she put a Protean charm on, so that the coins would mirror each other. And the coins also warmed up-"

"Thank you! That's all I need!" I nearly jump with joy. I can't believe it- this will be easier than I had thought. Sure, Protean charms are plenty difficult, but I'll manage. I begin to speed-walk away, but Lovegood calls after me.

"Wait! Wait... if you're making these coins to contact me, then maybe I could help you. I'm okay at spells, and I could show you a good place to figure the formula out." The blonde's cheeks are slightly flushed, and her shining eyes hopeful. I turn to face her, feeling more than a bit skeptical as she continues. To my surprise, she seems almost nervous, and her speech is halting. "I- I - you're the first person who has actually _wanted_ to be friends with me. If you could call it 'friends'. What I'm trying to say is that I want to help you, and you have pretty hair."

I blink in incertitude. _Pretty hair?_ What does that have to do with anything? "Thanks, er, Lovegood," I mutter stiffly. "That's nice of you and all, and I'd love to take you up on the offer, but-"

And then, she grabs my hand. The oblivious little freak actually _grabs my hand_. "Come on then!" She exclaims, beginning to drag me down the hall with a lot more power than I would have expected. "I know just where we can get to work!"

* * *

"This is my favorite place in Hogwarts."

Luna Lovegood points at a blank stretch of wall with a cheerful grin.

She's definitely mental.

"See, all you have to do is walk back and forth and think about something that you really, really want, and then the wall turns into a room. But of course you know that, since you did it last year when that evil lady tried to stop our DA meetings. It really wasn't very nice of you, but maybe you're trying to make up for that now, right?" She adds thoughtfully.

"Oh. Oh, yeah. Of _course_." I agree loudly and unconvincingly as I begin to speed-walk back and forth in front of the wall of the seventh corridor. This is brilliant! I knew about the Room of Requirement all along, but somehow I never thought to use it as a work shop... or a prison. If the enchanted chamber can really become whatever I want, why shouldn't it transform into a cage to contain me over the full moon? _I need a place to make magic communication coins. I need a place to make magic communication coins._ I don't even have time to chide myself for thinking such absurd-sounding thoughts before a small paneled door appears out of thin air in the formerly empty wall.

Lovegood steps forward and turns the golden door nob with ease, waiting for me to step into the room. She closes the door behind us as I take in the spacious workshop. Bookshelves line the walls, bearing tomes and manuals with titles like: _N.E.W.T. Level Spells Made Easy_ and _One Thousand and One Clever Mechanical Spells_. Towards the center of the room, a long table with chairs is laden with neatly sorted piles of materials. There are clocks, hairpins, notebooks, and at the far end, a box filled with gleaming golden Galleons.

Bwah-ha-ha-ha-ha. World domination, here I come.

Only kidding. But I can be certain that my place as the Dark Lord's number one Death Eater is as good as secured. Once I carry out my clever plan and dispose of the worthless Headmaster, then no one will care that I'm a werewolf and a half-breed.

"This is nice..." Luna Lovegood is saying as she drifts towards the box of coins. "I like this room. Let's call it 'The Room of Enchanting'. Or 'The Room of Creation'. Which do you like better?"

"Huh?" I shake myself from my happy schemes and turn to face her. "Oh, I don't know; go with the first one. I have stuff to do though, so thanks for taking me here and goodbye."

"But I'm going to help you." The blonde says firmly, her arching golden brows becoming slightly furrowed. "I can make a coin of my own if while you make yours- that way we can catch two Snitches with one move."

Is there no way for me to get rid of this infernal pestilence? With a dramatic groan, I give her a baleful look and submit. "Well then, let's start with the Protean charm.

* * *

" _Lumos_." I whisper, covering the tip of my wand with my hand as it illuminates with a pearly white light. Nausea washes over me as I stumble from my bed, pausing at the frame of the entrance to the sixth year boys' dorm to subdue a sudden urge to vomit. Stooped like an old man, I stumble down the steep stairs and into the dank Slytherin common-room. My lighted wand is really unnecessary, as the sun hasn't even sunk yet, but somehow the purity of the snow-white blaze seems protecting.

"Malfoy! Hey, Draco, come sit with us!" Tracy Davis's blonde dreadlocks look green under the watery reflections from the common room windows. Beside her, a knot of Slytherin boys and girls nod, beckoning me over.

"I- I can't... I've got to go..." I choke miserably, dashing from the chilly room and leaving my bewildered house mates to continue with their homework.

With my head down and my hand clapped to my aching sides, I rush through the corridors and up stairs until I finally make my way to the tapestry of dancing trolls and the blank stretch of wall across from it. _I need somewhere I can become a werewolf and not hurt anyone. I need somewhere I can become a werewolf and not hurt anyone... I need somewhere..._ Blinking through bleary eyes, I just manage to make out the heavy iron door that appears at my request.

I'm no longer a stranger to the Room of Requirement, even though it's only been four days since Lovegood and I started meeting to work on the DA coins. Sure, that Hermione Granger girl might have been able to just whip the spell out... but as much as it pains me to admit it, I have to say that I've been having some trouble. Fortunately, however, yesterday was a breakthrough. Lovegood and I successfully created three perfect contact Galleons (I would have preferred to make only two, one for Rosmerta and the other for me, but I needed something to keep the Lovegood girl from discovering my true intentions, and the promise of secret chats between us were a good alibi). Luna has her coin with her, and the other two are currently secreted under my pillowcase back in my dorm. I'll have to figure out how to get the Imperiused bar maid hers, but that'll have to wait till after the full moon.

Every day my pain has been increasing, and the closer my transformation loomed, the more I began to worry about Luna reading the sings. She may be insane, but she's not exactly stupid, and the signs of my lycanthropy aren't exactly invisible. A couple days ago, I could have sworn that I found some grey hairs on my temple. Plus, the purple bruises beneath my eyes frankly scream illness. And Lovegood was bothering me a lot yesterday, asking me if I felt alright.

It feels almost strange to turn the nob of the Room's door without the slender blonde girl directly behind me. Not that I _like_ her company, of course. I can hardly stand her, and that's the truth; she's annoying, nonsensical, and just plain weird... but also the tiniest bit comforting. There's really no reason at all for her to want to hang out with me- she doesn't seem to care about blood-status, she doesn't want to know how much money I have, or anything like that. I can't really figure her out, but maybe that's for the best. I won't be seeing her again now that I've used her to get what I need, and besides, I don't think that I could handle knowing what goes on inside her chaotic little mind.

Coughing slightly, I push the door open. The Room is small and freezing cold. Its walls and floor are made of thick heavy stone, and bedecked with grim-looking iron chains. A cold sweat begins to creep over my flesh as the iron door swings shut behind me; the clammy room is entirely dark. Almost without knowing what I'm doing, I lift my lighted wand and struggle to the heavy manacles, my breath coming in painful bursts. It takes all the strength in my body to reach the chains, and I slump to the ground as they lift into the air at the Room's command. This place must know exactly what to do... and it's doing it. As the heavy iron links wrap around my body and my eyes flicker closed, I'm struck with a strange thought.

Without a friend at my side, this room is far from anybody's favorite place at Hogwarts. It's a terrifying prison.

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you all so much for taking the time to read, and for waiting for patiently for me to update! You're all so awesome. I'd especially like to thank **Nikol Curzon** and **Shealtiel** for leaving such encouraging and lovely reviews! They absolutely made my day. In answer to **Shealtiel's** comment about whether or not Luna will replace Moaning Myrtle in this fic, all I have to say is that she will... in a sense. You guys can still expect Moaning Myrtle at some point, but she certainly won't hold the same level of importance to Draco as Luna will._

 _Anyway, sorry this is short and might not make much sense, but please leave a review if you have a spare moment, and I'll make sure to take whatever advise you might offer!_


	10. Hidden Things

10\. Hidden Things

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 _AN: Wow, ten chapters! I feel proud of myself. Anyway, I don't own Harry Potter, and am making no money from this fic, so enjoy!_

* * *

Groaning, I pick myself up from the floor of the Room of Requirement.

I suppose that something in the back of my mind had half-hoped- expected, even- that my second transformations and the full moons following would be progressively less painful as my body adjusted to them. I guess that I was dead wrong. With the strong enchanted chains keeping me in check, I'm considerably less damaged than last time- and likewise in the case of my surroundings. My bones ache and my head pounds, but my cloak is less tattered and my body less battered.

To my relief, the shackles fall easily away as I stand; the Room must know that danger has passed and that its duty is fulfilled. I brush my shoulders off and run my fingers through my soft, silky hair, brushing it back into form. I really wish that I had a mirror and some fresh robes...

No sooner does the thought cross my mind than my desires are laying on the stony floor in front of me; a small hand mirror and a neatly folded pile of green and black Slytherin robes. This gift, however, doesn't fill me with the kind of wonder that the Room used too. It was, I suppose, partially expected that the enchanted chamber would offer me a kind of mask to cover the horrors of last night from my fellow classmates, and the sight of the clothes scare me. Now no one need ever know what's happening to me- know one will be able to read the signs and save me. And as much as I hate myself for it, I wish that they would.

I slip off my filthy cloak, pants, and shirt in exchange for the fresh Hogwarts uniform. Checking my reflection in the mirror, I can see that the shadows beneath my eyes seem even more pronounced, and that there is a small scratch on my temple. Nothing major, and easily covered by my hair. Setting the mirror back down on the messy pile of my old, discarded clothes, I open the door of the Room and slip into the empty corridor. The heavy iron door vanishes soundlessly behind me, and I'm left alone with the pale grey light of early morning streaming down on me from the seventh hall windows. Back to my room for some silver and dittany, and then I'll be thrown into the surging mass of happy carefree young witches and wizards for a day of classes, tests, and homework. But I'll be all alone.

* * *

I flop down onto my soft, green-blanketed bed with a sigh. As I predicted in the seventh corridor early this morning, today's classes and activities were even more stressful and pain-filled than ever. I can't keep going on like this- I _have_ to pick up speed on my mission to settle things once and for all... but I just don't know what to do!

Without really knowing why, I find my fingers slipping subconsciously under my fluffy pillows, groping for my golden contact coins, which I know I need to get to Rosmerta before the Imperius that I cast becomes to weak. The Galleons feel surprisingly warm in my hands, and I roll over onto my stomach to study them more carefully. Instead of following the Granger mudblood's idea of putting number codes around the edge of the coins, Lovegood and I simply added all twenty-six letters of the alphabet. Perhaps they make the falsity of the Galleons more significant, but writing messages also become much more simple; all one must do is tap the desired letters in the desired order, and they arrange themselves on all three coins for the respective owners to see.

I hadn't expected to see any message- especially not tonight. But there it is; the tiny raised letters gleaming in perfect, synchronized order on both of my golden Galleons.

"Ive lost something help"

For a moment, I'm confused as to the meaning of this ungrammatical sentence, but then it dawns on me that the coins don't offer any punctuation. Lovegood must have meant to ask, "I've lost something. Help?"

Rolling my eyes in annoyance, I begin to weigh the pros and cons of offering my assistance to her. I hadn't intended to keep up correspondence with her (I'll admit that it was a bad idea to give her her own copy of the coin), but it's kind of nice of her to depend on me- almost like a friend. I hardly know the girl, but what could it hurt? I'm lonely, and she's company. Simple.

"Tell me where" I type laconically.

"The bathroom" Lovegood replies almost instantly, though no less simply.

I almost send another message asking which bathroom she's talking about, but then I remember. A nutcase like Luna Lovegood could only be thinking of the grimy boys' bathroom in which we first met- the place where she told me that she often hid. I stuff the coin in the pocket of my cloak and hop from my bed. Several other Slytherins are huddled around the blazing fireplace, but they don't look up as I pass through the common-room. The clock above the door reads seven forty-two in the evening, but it feels later to me.

I slip from the dungeon common room and through the flagstone-floored halls towards the bathroom where I first met Lovegood.

* * *

"Oh, good! You're here!"

I arrange my face into a look of annoyance as Lovegood opens the bathroom door for me. Secretly, I'm almost glad to see her- but if she knew that, it would just go straight to her head. Besides, it's embarrassing for someone as powerful as me to hang out with a girl like Luna. "Well, I didn't have anything else to do." I gripe.

"I know. You don't really do much, do you? I mean, with- friends... Perhaps because you're ill?"

I choose not to answer her, turning the conversation towards her plea for help instead. "Do you need me for something, or did you just want to talk?"

"Ooh, yes. I usually don't ask for help... but this time it's something really big."

I my surprise, Lovegood actually sounds distressed- almost scared about exposing her problem to me. For the first time since, well, probably _ever_ , I look at her. I mean, I _really_ look at her. She's not a pretty girl, homely at best- Pansy would call her just plain strange looking- but there's something... _right_ about her. I don't know; I can't explain it, but she's made in a way that's pleasing. Tall, skinny, without breasts or butt, she looks a bit like the photos of her father, Xenophilius Lovegood, that I've seen in the papers- but with a smaller nose and much longer hair. Her eyes are huge and rather bulging, just a shade darker silver than mine. I guess I've never really noticed the way that her wavy blonde hair curls across her forehead, or that despite her eccentric clothing, her outfits still look flattering.

"-used to it, and I usually don't bother to look for my things till end of term..."

I snap my mouth closed, suddenly realizing that I've been gaping at Lovegood and not even listening to her story. "So you need help with?" I say rather brusquely, feeling thoroughly embarrassed and disgusted with myself.

"Finding what they took. It's- it's a photo of my- of my- mum." Her voice slows, becoming monotone and choppy as she haltingly continues. "My _only_ photo. I'm sorry... I shouldn't have asked." She adds quickly, her cheeks flushing slightly. "I'm fine."

And she wipes her eyes on the corner of her baggy green sweater sleeve.

"It's okay. I'll help you, I guess." I say woodenly. In the back of my mind, I wonder how I would react if some loser stole one of my many father-son photos. Probably not as well as Lovegood- and her parent is _dead,_ whereas mine is just... detained.

"Really?" Within seconds, Lovegood's face is all sunshine and happiness again as she beams at me. "Oh thank you, thank you!" With a radiant squeal, she lunges at me, wrapping her arms around my middle in a tight hug.

"Oh...kay..." I say slowly, detaching her arms from my waist and taking a step back. "Thanks, but I'm not a hugger."

"Really? I'm not a kisser! But I might change my mind on that eventually, and you might change your opinion on hugging, because hugging is really a wonderful thing..."

I turn away as she babbles on, the blood pounding in my ears. "Let's just go. I reckon I might have an idea about where you're stuff is. You said that some seventh year Ravenclaws took the picture?"

* * *

 _Show me the place where hidden things are... Show me the place where hidden things are..._

"The seventh corridor? But- but I don't think that the girls who took my picture know about the Room of Requirement! They weren't in the DA..." Lovegood pauses, looking slightly confused.

I stop my pacing and turn to face her. "You said when you first showed it to me that the Room can become whatever you like. So, I was thinking; if it can become a clubhouse, training grounds, library, or-" I almost say "prison", but cut myself short. "- _workshop_ , why not a storehouse? But it has enchantments on it- and powerful ones at that- so maybe its range of power can stretch through the whole school. Just imagine: the students who took your picture stashed it in some hidden niche or something. But when I ask the Room to show me where hidden things are, then possibly it will be able to unearth your photo too. Like, things that have been hidden around the school without a person to find them might be accessible through the Room!" I explain, feeling rather brilliant.

Lovegood's lips part slightly, her arching brows still knit in bewilderment. After a while, she manages to say, "Oh. That makes sense." In a tone that seems to deny her words.

Well, if she's too _dumb_ to understand. I huff a bit, continuing in my focused pacing until a door appears in the wall. Lovegood follows mutely behind me all I yank it open, gazing in wonder up into the massive, high-ceilinged room. Well, "room" might be an understatement. This chamber is so large that our awestruck whispers echo like cannon fire around it; I can't even see the distant walls through the towering pillars of junk. Clothes, trunks, toys, and spellbooks join the thousands of other miscellaneous objects, heaped into wobbling piles from floor to ceiling.

"We should split up. What's the picture like?" I say, still rather brusquely. I'm not the kind of person to let go of irritation easily, and I don't intend to let Lovegood off the hook until she admits that my idea was brilliant.

"It's really pretty; my mum and I are side by side. It was taken a long time ago though... and the glass is cracked in one corner." Lovegood's voice is already growing fainter as she drifts off toward a rickety flotsam structure that seems to be comprised mainly of stuffed animals; their beady glass eyes glint in the dusty light of the room as she passes. Well, so much for an apology.

I roll my eyes and head in the opposite direction, glancing quickly up and down each tower of junk before moving on to the next. There are plenty of photographs, sure- landscapes, class photos, ancient discolored miniatures, and even one that seems to be of an intimate rendezvous right here in the Room of Requirement (I don't dwell on that one long)- but none of a mother and daughter side by side. As the hours pass, I'm beginning to get more and more bored. The trinkets from students past are no longer remotely fascinating, and I have no idea where Luna even is. I'm starting to doubt whether or not this Room acts the way I had figured- Luna's picture is probably still in its hiding place somewhere else in the castle. In frustration, I kick out at a weathered old bookshelf, coughing as a cloud of dust rises from the chipped wood and the many books and small statues littering its shelves. Fluttering my hand to clear the dirt away, I walk right into another, taller cabinet.

"Ouch!" I snap to no one in particular, clutching my stubbed foot and glaring at the dark wood offender.

Wait a second.

This cabinet looks familiar. _Really_ familiar.

"Oh..." I choke, putting my hand on the smooth cabinet door and closing my eyes. Despite bearing all the evidence of being dropped from the ceiling, the Vanishing Cabinet looks exactly like it's sister in Borgin's shop. I gently pry the door open, and look inside. It's clearly broken, but that doesn't matter to me. As soon as we get to go to Hogsmeade, I'll collect the books that Borgin is sure to have sent Rosmerta on Cabinet Repair. "I found it." I say quietly. "I never would have looked here... but I found it!"

Slowly, I walk around to the back of the Vanishing Cabinet, inspecting the damage. The boards have been knocked free and splintered all around the base, and there are scuff marks around the opening to the Cabinet door- probably from when those Weasley twins pushed Graham inside.

"Draco! Draco, I found it- the picture, I found it!"

I straighten up, my heart pounding as Luna grabs suddenly at my arm. "Merlin! Don't do that, Lovegood. You almost gave me heart failure. How did you even find me, anyway?" I snap, shaking her clutching hand from the sleeve of my robe.

"Draco, I need your help. My picture is way up high, and I can't reach it! Come with me and get it, please?" She begs, grabbing at my cloak again, her grey eyes shining with excitement.

"No. Just use your wand- you don't need me." I push her away, stooping down to inspect a long crack running up the side of the Vanishing Cabinet. I've got more important, mission-related things to do now- I don't have time for Lovegood anymore, and I'm honestly not sorry. She's turning into a bloody nuisance.

"I left it in my dorm! Please, please, _please_ help me!" She's dragging at my hand down, trying to pull me of towards her precious little picture.

"I said _no_." I snap again. "I'm busy. You can figure things out for yourself- you're a big girl."

Lovegood lets go of my hand and takes a step back, her face falling. "I- but-"

"Just go, okay? _Go._ " I yell suddenly, unleashing every bit of pent up anger and pain that I've been dealing with since my transformation on her. "You heard me, get out of here!"

Her mouth opens, then closes. Without warning, she emits a small gagging noise and turns tail, her long hair whipping out of sight behind the mountains of trash.

"Good riddance." I mutter, a horrible feeling bubbling up inside of me. I half expect for her to leap back out at me, all smiles again, her hair swinging and her strange radish-shaped earrings catching the light as she takes my hand again. I try to go back to my inspection of the Vanishing Cabinet, but the lump in my throat won't let me focus on my work. "Look, sorry." I say loudly, turning around and waiting for her response. It doesn't come. "I really am- I didn't mean it."

Silence.

"Lovegood?" I beg almost hopefully. She can't really be gone- I can't have driven away the only person who seems to really care for me. No loss, I try to tell myself, but I know that it is. A big loss, and it's all mine. "Luna? Luna, please..."

But she's gone.

* * *

 _A/N: Okay, a few points! 1. Sorry about the awful lack of grammar and punctuation in the coin messages between Luna and Draco- no, it's not a typo. The contact coins just don't have punctuation options! 2. When Draco describes Luna as being rather homely, don't think that I'm trying to influence how you picture Luna, or that I'm insinuating that Evanna Lynch isn't a beautiful girl! That's not my intention at all._

 _Thank you so much for taking the time to read, and feel free to mention to me if there's anything that you think that I could improve in. Love you all!_


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